Life after Death
by Helen Pattskyn
Summary: Blind, helpless, and afraid aren't things Sheldon Sands ever thought would apply to him but after La Dia de los Muertos, nothing will ever be the same again. The only way Sands can make it is if he learns to trust someone...
1. La Dia de Los Muertos

_From the author - a not so brief introduction:_

Greetings! To any of my regular readers who meander this way… Yes, I _will_ be finishing up those other projects I'm working on (I have a couple of chapters that I haven't finished polishing up, but are other wise completed)… I just needed a break. Something gritty and dirty with lots of four letter words and some shoot em up action… to that end, this is** not** a part of that grand, epic Tunnel saga. Don't be surprised if I still have a little fun - but none of the usual characters are coming out to play here. This is just what it looks like it's going to be...

Ok, I shouldn't have to say this, but I'm going to anyway:_Once Upon a Time in Mexico_was rated R. This is also rated R, and for pretty much the same reasons. If your sensibilities are offended by strong language and adult situations, I entreat you to look elsewhere.

That said, the usual disclaimers apply – I own only my characters and I mean no offence to the **_very_** talented Mr. Rodriguez by playing with _his_ characters. So, sadly, I don't own even the tiniest parts of Sands. However, if Johnny ever wants to come over and play, I'll leave the key under the matt…

While I love constructive criticism – and have even been known to take it quite seriously, I'm going to borrow a line from another writer (forgive me for I don't recall who) and say that if you just plain hate it – if you find nothing redeemable at all in my work, and it's not even worth your time to make some suggestions for improvement, would you kindly just keep it to yourself? I get enough shit in real life. Writing is something I do for fun. So – if you spot a mistake – or something that could be better – please, please give a shout - I love feedback, especially when someone catches something I've missed. But if you hate it - just go read something else, because there is lots of OUaTiM fanfic that is really, really great.

Lastly… because this is based on a movie, I thought it might be fun to "cast" some of my main characters - the following list applies to the first few chapters, not just the prologue.I haven't cast the youngest children because it's hard enough casting the adults like this – so sorry, but you're going to have to imagine Johnny Depp at 10 for Sands at 10. Following each actor's name, I've given a quick reference or you can do a Google search - or just read on and skip all this nonesense, your choice. ;)

_Alison Sands_……………….Jorja Fox (CSI: Las Vegas)

_Greta Sands_……………….Swoosie Kurtz (many, many, many roles)

_Holly Dawson_………………Peta Wilson (La Femme Nikita – the tvseries)

_Emma Dawson_……………..Kay Panabaker (Summerland)

_Beth McKinny (aka La Doctora)_ …………………………? I have her cast, but if Sands can't see her why should you be able to? Everyone else listedis someonehe knew before the Day of the Dead. (I'll let the cat out of its bag later on Beth, promise.)

_Chet and his cronies_…………………the gang of obnoxious kids from _It_ fits the bill pretty well. I have no idea what their names are, it was just on Sci Fi a couple of nights ago when I was writing that part of the story. _Any_ gang of pre-adolescent hooligans will work.

_Milo Givens_……………………………Robert Sean Leonard (House MD)

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_There's a guy starting to realize that Eternal  
Fate has turned its back on him. It's 2 a.m. _

It's two a.m.  
The fear has gone  
I'm sitting here waitin'  
The gun's still warm  
Maybe my connection is tired of taking chances  
Yeah there's a storm on the loose  
Sirens in my head  
Wrapped up in silence  
All circuits are dead  
Cannot decode My whole life spins into a frenzy

Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone  
The place is a madhouse  
Feels like being cloned  
My beacon's been moved  
Under moon and star  
Where am I to go  
Now that I've gone too far?

Soon you will come to know  
When the bullet hits the bone  
Soon you will come to know  
When the bullet hits the bone

I'm falling down a spiral  
Destination unknown  
Double crossed messenger, all alone  
Can't get no connection  
Can't get through Where are you?

Well the night weighs heavy  
On his guilty mind  
This far from the borderline  
When the hit man comes  
He knows damn well  
He has been cheated And he says

_Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone  
The place is a madhouse  
Feels like being cloned  
My beacon's been moved  
Under moon and star  
Where am I to go  
Now that I've gone too far?_

**Prologue:**

_La Dia De Los Muertos _

To die, I once read, would be a very big adventure. Bet you never woulda guessed that li'l ol' yours truly had ever read a children's book in his whole freaky, fucking messed up life,would you? Can't even imagine me as a kid, can you? Don't worry, I can't really imagine me as a kid either. I'm not real sure, but I think I hated kids even when I was one… of course I'm not what you'd exactly call a people person.

It's strange the things that go through a man's head when he's sure he's about to die. I count the bullets as they hit – and miss. Most of the misses are mine. Most of the hits are theirs. One in each thigh – I thinksomething hot and nastypierces my side. My arm is still throbbing from earlier… and we're just not going to discuss the rest of it right now. If you've been with me from the start of this sordid tale, you already know what the cartel did to me, so it would be old hat anyway.

I'm still trying to piece together what went wrong. Cucuy sold me out. Ok, I can live with that. Ajedrez… I really can't live with that. I wonder if she had me pegged from the beginning or if it was just my dumb luck to fall into bed with Barillo's daughter. I may never know for sure... hmm.

A woman I knew and might have loved (we fucked for a whole summer, anyway) – she once told me that I had such rotten luck, I must have pissed off a gypsy in a past life. She believes in all that crap about past lives and Karma. No wonder she got out of my life as soon as… she did…

For half a second, I'm back there – that summer. I smell fresh mountain air instead of gunpowder and smoke. I'm laying with my back up against a tree, watching the sun set over the mountains behind the lake, listening to some kind of bird hoot or something off in the distance. Never was a nature lover. Leave it to Holly to pick a spot like this. Damn. I haven't thought of that summer the last time I checked my P.O. box in Sant Fe – about – hmmm – three years ago, just before they shipped my sorry ass down here. Guess I should have asked someone to forward my mail. Oopsie.

I hear footsteps – boots on cobblestone. I lay still.

Through the burning gunpowder, I catch a whiff of some very familiar perfume… it's sweet. Cloying. Ajedrez. I never did like that shit she wears.

She kneels down next to me - puts the sunglasses back on my face.

She tells me to get up.

_My name is Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, s_ays a voice in my head. My voice.

_I work for the Central Intelligence Agency. _

_I throw shapes. They catch them._

_I set them up._

_I watch them fall._

Only as of an hour ago, I'm never going to be able to 'watch' another thing as long as I live.

And I never even saw it coming…

"See anything you like?" Shetaunts, as her lips brush up against mine… she tastes as sweet as the day we met, but all I want to do is hurl.

This timeshe's the one whodoesn't see it coming. I pull the trigger and feel her blood hot and warm soaking into my shirt. In my mind's eye, I clearly see the look of shock on her pretty face. It makes me smile.

"No," I reply to her asanine question, as I dislodge my fake arm.

A great satisfaction settles over me as I hear her bodyhit the ancient cobblestones.

I let myself fall.

It's over. Ajedrez is dead. I'm pretty sure Barillo is dead – or at least that he will be soon. I hope that twisted fuck Guereza is dead. I think it's time for me to join them all in Hell and get this party started!

Yeah, to die would be an awfully big adventure indeed… hail, hail, the gang's all here…

Except - except that when your world is already so dark, it's impossible to tell if you're dead or alive... hmmmm...

And then I hear a familiar sound… a bicycle bell…

Yeah. If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.

I'm alive.


	2. Living La Vida Loca

_I'm alive – and the world shines for me today_

_I'm alive – suddenly I am here to today_

_Seems like forever and a day_

_Thought I could never feel this way_

_Is this really me?_

_I'm alive _

_I'm alive_

_I'm alive – and the dawn breaks across the sky_

_I'm alive – and sun rises up so high_

_Lost in another world – far away_

_Never another world – 'til today_

_But what can I say?_

_I'm alive _

_I'm alive _

_I'm alive_

_Suddenly came the dawn – out of night_

_Suddenly I was born – Into light_

_How can it be real?_

_I'm alive _

_I'm alive_

_I'm alive – and world shines for me today_

_I'm alive – suddenly I am here today_

_Seems like forever and a day_

_Thought I could never feel this way_

_Is this really me?_

_I'm alive _

_I'm alive _

_I'm alive_

_Not something you could see Sands singing…? I don't know, I think he's just twisted enough to have something that cheesy going through his head as he lies dying in the street… the song is_ I'm Alive_, by the Electric Light Orchestra (total disco hell according to my husband), and is from the movie _Xanadu_, made in the early 1980's._

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Chapter One

_Living La Vida Loca_

The strangest tune is going through my head… _I'm alive, and the world shines for me today… _God, this must be Hell. There's disco! I almost scream – except screaming takes energy and right now, I'm using all my energy to find my feet. Cool, they're still on the ends of my legs.

Now, if I could just get them onto the ground, too… there – damn, glasses are slipping… Around me, I smell the sweet scent of carnage. Blood. Bullets. Rotting meat. Yeah, my kinda scene all right – I'm kinda sad I can't see it. There is nothing more satisfying than surveying my own handiwork. Despite everything, I find a small smile creeping onto my lips as I try to imagine what the street around me must look like. I still have the magic touch… (of course the small part of my brain that's functioning 'normally' is telling me that this is drug and adrenaline induced euphoria – what the hell, euphoria is euphoria, right?)

I push the dark glasses back into place and do my best imitation of a man standing up. Damn. There goes the euphoria – standing on legs that have been shot full of led is no easy task. Each step sends a jolt of pure fire through my battered body. What a way to end an otherwise successful career. Ok, ok, not totally successful – gheeze, everybody's a critic. I got sent down to this little cesspool because I screwed one time too many – I always get results, but I always seem to leave a trail of bodies in my wake. Sometimes the Company actually wants a thing handled quietly – and I just don't do quiet real well, even when I'm trying.

Through the haze of internal fire I find myself stumbling… with a little help from my small companion I manage to find a wall to lean against (without tumbling headlong into it) and I take a moment to catch my breath and figure out what to do next. Nope. So far no brilliant plans leaping to mind... I lean my head against the wall, wishing for a cigarette and a shot of tequila. I take that back. I want the whole damned bottle of tequila andgreat big fat juicy lime to go with it.

I listen to the kid - he's just waiting. Patiently. You know, this may actually be the_ only_ kid I've voluntarily spent any time with at all. And that was only out of sheer fucking necessity. Still – he's been a pretty good sport, all things considered. If I make it back to my hotel, I'll give him something for his trouble... this, of course, is assuming I continue to live. That may be a pretty big assumption.

Hmph. I can actually _feel_ the rough texture of the adobe through the blood soaked shirt, scraping at the skin of my back. Funny how one little pain is actually more of a bother than all the other pain I feel right now.

Pain? No, pain is a pale, pale word to describe what I'm feeling – and that's just the physical wounds – my mind isn't yet ready to begin coming to grips with the rest of it… maybe that's why my brain is wandering all over the map with its random musings.

I almost don't hear the footsteps approaching… a familiar cadence. Ramirez. Nice to know he made it out alive (insert sarcasm, kiddies. I honestly do not give a rat's fat ass.) I "look" in the direction of the footsteps.

"Hey," he says by way of greeting.

I hear him take out the cell and toss it in my general direction. Either he's a good pitcher, or my luck is improving, because I catch it one handed. "Did you get your man?" I ask.

"One of them."

"Well if that isn't interagency cooperation than I just – I just don't know what is," I manage half a smile.

"See you later," he tells me.

Damn him. Then… maybe he hasn't figured it out? Hell – if not than we're both fucking blind. "Fuck you," I mutter back in his general direction – although I can already hear the retreating footstepsso I'm not sure he's heard me. I'm not sure I care.

"Are you ok?" The kid asks me then.

I surprise myself by giving him an honest answer: "I don't know." I mean, there's blood oozing from what used to be my… never mind, it's oozing all down my face, hot and sticky and collecting dust. I'm sure I've got at least one bullet lodged in me – probably two. Several bullet holes. No, I really don't think I'm going to be ok – I'm not sure I _want_ to be ok.

"You will be," says the kid.

Fuck – little twerp has _got_ to be kidding. I've been, as the saying goes, pumped full of lead. My body is a hunk of stinking Swiss cheese. I'm pretty sure that some of the drug cocktail they gave me to keep me awake during my earlier "medical procedure" is still floating around my system, too. I hurt – fuck do I hurt – but I know it _should_ be worse. I'm still a little numb above the neck… And I know that's going to change real soon. Real soon I'm going to blow my own fucking head off, just to stop the pain, because I can already feel my eye sockets starting to burn… _Christ, listen to yourself, Sands…_ _since when is "give up" in you God damned vocabulary_? I try to straighten – and feel myself falling over – and a small hand props me up. Great. The mighty Sheldon Jeffrey Sands has fallen so far he needs a ten year old just to keep from kissing dirt.

"I could take you somewhere – somewhere to rest."

"Where?" Beggars shouldn't be choosers – but after the last twelve hours, I'm a little more paranoid than usual. Fuck me. If I'd been my usual paranoid self, I wouldn't be in this fucking mess and I know it. I have no one to blame but myself.

That thought settles nice and slow into my brain. It feels kinda like ice water tricklingdown my spine to really realize that this whole damned thing was my own doing… _yeah, this is your own fault, fuckmook_… _your own damned fucking fault._ _You, my friend, are a moron, _says my brain to the rest of me. And I know it's right. All that little bitch had to do was wiggle her sweet ass in my face a few times and here I am… and I never saw it coming.

"Come – come, I show you."

Huh? Oh, right. Kid. I almost forgot he was still standing there. Waiting. Waiting for me. Waiting for me to decide whether or not to trust him… Hell, I don't know what I need more, a cigarette or a shot of tequila… or to just crawl under a rock somewhere and quietly bleed to death.

I try to swallow back the fear of further betrayal – I'm not really ready to die in the street like some unwanted dog.

I remind myself that this kid has been more loyal to me than my own people were– more loyal than the Company … Hell, he's been more loyal than that damned mariachi – not that El owed me anything – I only handed him the _one thing_ he had to want more than anything else in the world… God damn them all to Hell and back again… everything is black – but I can feel it getting blacker. Blood loss – shock – I'm sure I'm about to pass out where I stand; now that the adrenaline rush is gone, the drugs seem to be wearing off fast. I feel a small hand place itself in mine and give a gentle tug. "Ok, kid, lead on," I find myself saying – what else is there to do but lie here and bleed to death – and somehow that just doesn't feel like an option. Giving up is something I've never been very good at...

"_Give it up **Sheldon,**" the biggest of the four boys surrounding me sneers – somehow the way he says my name, it sounds like some kind of disease or something._

_The four boys are not only bigger, they're older by two and three years._

_I'm ten. Alison is six. She's sitting on the ground crying – the one who sneered my name pushed her off her bike – it used to be my bike, but I told her she could have it, even though it's too big for her – she's never had a bike. Now Chester Wheaton has it – just because he can, not because he needs another one – and I mean, a guy with a name like Chester doesn't have any room to pick on me about my name, right? Only all his rat-fink friends call him Chet. And he's the big cheese around here. _

_Only I've never been real good with authority figures, either… the bigger they are, the harder they fall. "I said, give my sister her bike back!" I snarl with all my ten year old might. _

"_Make me!"_

"_It's ok, Shelly – don't worry about it," Alison whimpers tearfully, grabbing at my arm. "Come on – let's just go home – please!"_

"_Yeah, **Shelly**," Chet sneers some more. I watch him take off on my sister's bike with his friends. But I know I'll get even. I was always a conniving little prick. Even as I'm bending to see how badly Alison's been hurt, my mind is churning – creating and discarding ideas… _

"_Shelly, it's not worth it," Alison continues to plead._

_I look at the four of them. They look at me. Finally I back down. Ostensibly. I help Alison up and she hobbles along beside me, leaning on me for support as we walk the two blocks back to the row of ugly brown houses. Attached housing – row homes. Call it whatever you want to, it means we're poor. We don't even own our ugly brown house – Mom is a renter._

_I help my little sister up the steps while the neighbours watch – no one offers to help. No one thinks much of us – I mean, come on a single mom and two little kids – has to be bad news, right… down right scandalous. _

_It's always the same – no matter where we go, we don't fit in. I've given up trying. Poor Alison had a best friend the last place we lived – it broke her heart to have to leave… I pull the key out from under my shirt – I wear it on a string around my neck – and let us in._

_Mom is still at work when we get home – but maybe that's a good sign. Maybe that means that this job will work out and we won't have to move again – only this time I wouldn't mind moving so much. Chet seems to have made it his personal mission in life to make my life miserable since we moved in six weeks ago. And the real kicker – his old man is Mom's boss. That's the why Alison didn't want me to make a big deal out of the bike – she's pretty clever for a six year old._

_I get her to the bathroom and wash off her scraped knees and elbows and have a look at her head. She's gonna have a goose egg for sure – so I grab some ice from the freezer and wrap it in a towel for her to hold over the lump while I get the hydrogen peroxide, mercurochrome, and bandages from the medicine chest. I'm not technically allowed into the medicine chest – but someone has to patch Alison up. Someone has to take care of her – and that someone has been me for most of the last four years._

_Mom is always working – sometimes two and three jobs and I'm only beginning to understand why it has to be this way… _

_I make Alison her favourite – a peanut butter and banana sandwich and park her in front of the dinky tv in the living room – she gets the last banana. I settle for plain peanut butter on crackers. We're out of bread too. I'm pretty used to being out of everything. Doesn't really matter – I don't really even taste the staleness of the crackers anyway, because my mind is so busy thinking. There is a reason I will go on to become the president of the chess club in a few years when we finally settle down… _

_We don't mention the bike to Mom the next morning – Alison and I are both in bed by the time she came home from work – and Mom is so busy she doesn't notice it missing… Within the week, the bike is home again, Chet is in the hospital and even if we do end up moving again, that's ok. I didn't like the way Mom's boss was always making her stay late. Now that I'm older, I have a much better idea why… apparently, nastiness runs in Chet's family. Maybe it runs in mine as well… my old man was always a heartless creep too, after all… _

I have no idea how long I've been stumbling along beside the kid – I strain to hear the sounds of the rest of the city – gunfire, both distant and not so distant – some yelling – I can only make out every seventh or eight word – it's hard to concentrate because of the throbbing above my shoulders. It's like my whole face is on fire – and for a few frightened moments I wonder how bad it really is… but the kid hasn't said anything. The taxi driver didn't seem to react to me as if I looked like some kind of monster… bet they would if they knew me better. But that's all internal – I can hide that. It's the external I'm worried about now… yeah, I know, fucking vain, but I've always had such devilish good looks. I'd hate to loose the edge they give me…

I gulp back the bile threatening to rise. I am not going to puke my guts out in the street. Just because I used to have the face of an angel… just because no one is ever going to look at me again… just because I'm never going to see another God damned thing… that's no reason to roll over and die, is it? Sure, what the fuck ever…

I realize the kid is saying something – only I haven't heard it, because I wasn't paying attention – but I feel him steadying me on my unsteady feet. Why the fuck should this kid want to help me? And why should I trust him? Well the second question is pretty easy – my choices are fucking limited. Limitado, my brain tells me in Spanish. I have to stop to catch my breath – I can barely stand.

My body seems to be getting heavier, my brain is slowing down – a combination of shock and blood loss, no doubt. Oh yeah, and bullets. I'm sure there's at least one lodged inside – frankly I don't know why I'm still alive to ponder it. Maybe I really did piss off a gypsy in a past life – Hell, with the way the last twenty four hours have gone, I probably pissed off a whole damned caravan of 'em…

"Come," my pint sized compadre urges me on after what seems like barely half a second. Time has lost all meaning – for all I know we've been wandering the streets of Culcuin for hours – or maybe just minutes. I don't know. I don't care. But apparently my tour guide does, because he won't let up until I start walking again.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Stumble. Step. Step. Oops… dirt – I spit out the dry grit and my young friend helps me back to what I think might pass for a standing position – only I can't move. I lean against the nearest wall, the hard adobe scraping against my back – which already feels as if it's had a cheese grater taken to it. I know I'm not gonna make it. I've put in a valiant effort – I even took out the bad guys with me. But this is it, finito, the end. It doesn't so much feel like giving up as simply acknowledging of the truth.

And I've lived a good life, right? I've had my fair share of the fun – I drank some great tequila – ate all the slow roasted pork a man could ever want – killed a few too-good cooks – taken out a few bad guys, made a few bucks along the way – it's been a whirl wind ride, but it's time to get off. Time to pay the piper… and at least I'll be in good company. Ajedrez is probably sitting down in Hell right now, just waiting for me… what? Yes, I'm quite sure I'm on my way down to old Hob. Saint Pete would laugh his wings off at me if I showed up at Heaven's Pearly Gates.

See, I know haven't done _good_ things – but I have done _necessary_ things. The world is a safer place because of me – Christ, I am so full of _shit_. The world will be a safer place after I've quietly bled to death here on the street in butt-fucking Mexico.

I don't really regret much – a few things – Emma, maybe. But not her mother (although maybe I should – that would be the afore mentioned hippy-chick. And unlike my old man, I did step up to the plate and at least offer up cold hard cash, when Holly finally let me in on her little secret. I would have stepped up sooner, if she'd seen fit to tell me about the end result of that summer by the lake. I should have learned then that you can never trust a woman.) Oh well, c'est la vive, as they say in France. Emma is probably better out without knowing me – and Holly's been pretty good about sending me photos and general updates. Not that I check that P.O. box more than twice a year… what the hell, it's not like I've spent more than a week a time stateside in… hell. A Fucking long time.

I do regret not seeing more of my sister (she doesn't really count in the woman category – sisters are exempt – just ask any of the creeps who tried to hit on her while I was around – they learned fast not to think of her as a girl.)

I didn't even make it to Mom's funeral (not a regret, just something Alison gave me crap over.) What I can I say; I was a little tied up on Bogotá at the time. Hey, it's not _my fault_ my mother decided to go into cardiac arrest while I was up to my Johnson in international espionage, mayhem, and murder. Christ, cut a guy a little slack, ok? It wasn't like I could actually _do_ anything, the old lady was dead before she hit the floor – and Alison's always been better at that shit than I ever was. I'd just have been under her feet.

But yeah, I kinda wish I'd seen a little more of my sister over the years… once upon a time we were almost close.

_Seen_… even if I make it through the Day of the Dead (_that_ humour of it hasn't escaped me either), I'm never going to _see_ anyone every again… not that I ever did… not the way other people do. I know I'm creep and I make no apologizes for it. I don't regret the things that most people think I should and I _don't_ regret who I am. I have contributed to the world around me – I've made a difference. I've kept the balance.

Fuck, even with a couple of little regrets along the way, it's not been a bad life, not a bad life at all… and my own shit had to catch up with me eventually, right?

I realize my diminutive tour guide is trying to get me moving again. Why am I bothering… oh well, I make the effort. Step. Step. Step. Step. One foot in front of the other in the dark. One hand against the rough adobe wall – one hand tucked into the kid's. Hell, I think this may be the first time in my forty two years of life that I've actually held a kid's hand – hey, I said I stepped up with cash, I did not _ever _do the Daddy thing. I mean – it's not like I had much of an example of what a father should be – and Holly didn't even tell me about Emma until Em was four. So – don't give me any shit about my lack of warm fuzziesover thefruit of myloom. For all I know, Em thinks I'm long dead… and depending on how the next few hours go, I just might be...

And I'm still trying to figure out exactly how and when this operation got away from me. I mean, I don't mean to sound like a totally egotistical jackass (even if I may be one at times – but hey, no apologizes, right?) – however – even factoring in the unstable factors – El, for instance – there was no reason for this thing to roll up – i.e. go to shit. I've been in worse – Bogotá was no fucking church picnic. Neither was Croatia or the fucking Middle East. And Christ – that thing in China a few years ago… but you get the idea. I've been all over the world and wherever I go, there is shit – there's shit before I get there and even more shit when I leave – but at least when I leave the job is done – and I usually manage to mop up my own shit pretty darned good. I have never, ever been caught with my – er – pants down. Not until now.

So why did it go to shit this time?

It went to shit because of some bitch – some sweet piece of ass that I just couldn't keep my hands off… ok, there have been plenty of pieces of ass in my life – but for about three seconds I let myself think that this one was different. Not in a life-long partner kind of way – but a 'I'm willing to stick my neck out' sort of way. An 'I want to spend a few months screwing you' kind of way. Onlywhat she wanted to do was screw me over... big difference. Big mistake. My mistake.

See, most of the women in my life have been meaningless one nighters – a few that turned into two or three nighters… but you get the idea. It's not that I'm just some pig it's just that – well, Hell, in my line of work making long-term commitments isn't really an option, ok? Lesson learned the hard way… but Ajedrez knew who I was up front and it wasn't like she wanted to play house. She wasn't some tree hugging hippy vegetarian. She liked guns. She liked sex. She liked me. I stopped using her. I started scheming schemes that included her.

And she was using me the whole time.

She used me like use other people. Only at least I try to give them something for their trouble.

I gave El his revenge.

I gave Ramirez _his_ revenge.

And what do I get?

I get my fucking eyes drilled out.

And I never even saw it coming…

_God damn it, Sands you're a fucking moron. _I berate myself for several long moments as I stumble blindly through the war torn streets of Culiacan. A war that I started. Oh, it was going to happen with or without me – but I made it happen _this_ way. I lined them all up like dominos. El, Ramirez, the Presidente, the General – I lined them up good. I lined them up and I prepared to sit back and watch them fall… just like Chet fell – although his was a little more literal...

_You didn't see it coming…_ Hell no, I didn't see it coming! How could I? The Company checked her out – how in the Hell did it get past us that she was Barillo's daughter for Christ's sake? How in the HELL does the Central _Fucking_ Intelligence Agency **_MISS_** something like **THAT**?

And then it hits me, that thing that's been nagging at the back of my brain for most of the day. And I stop and suck in air – I stagger back against a wall and am silently grateful for its presence because without it, I'd be lying flat on my back. Again. And that, I tell myself, is how this whole thing started… flat on my back. Albeit with a beautiful woman on top… perfidious bitch…

The Company couldn't possibly have missed that little blip in Ajedrez's background. There is no fucking way – Barillo isn't that good. Ajedrez isn't that good. Someone knew. Someone had to know. The Company had to know. The kid is tugging me to move, but I ignore the little fuckmook.

This revelation, coupled with a conspicuous lack of back up when I asked for it anda very dead cell phone -- and call me paranoid, but I think I've been set up. Fuck me. Fuck me long and hard with a God damned chainsaw. Jesus, I'd kill for a cigarette about now. And a great big bottle of tequila. Something I could really drown myself in. Fuck me. I've been burned. I've been burned but good.

"Senor – come, please – it is not far now."

No, kid, it isn't far at all. In fact, it's just about over. I've been hung out to dry. "I – don't think it matters," I mutter in Spanish. "I'm about – done." Cooked. Fried. Slow fucking roasted. _Burned._

Of course I could be over reacting – maybe it's just Collins I've pissed off one time too many – or Suarez. I can't imagine the _entire_ Agency out to get me. Even I'm not that paranoid. _Yet._

"No – we are almost there," the kid tells me. "Just a few steps more. You can make it."

I almost laugh – except I can't quite hold my head up any more. No, it isn't the sure knowledge that I've been burned – or even the knowledge that I contributed to my own downfall by buying into Ajedrez's bullshit hook, line and sinker, like some hormone driven teenager. I can't keep my head up because of the throbbing that's managed to cut through the burning agony above my neck. It starts in right in the middle of what used to be my eyes and stabs through to the back of my skull like someone's going at me with a knife. A nice big saw blade knife… maybe a Ginsu – nothing as classy as a Hinkle –yeah, the throbbing is definitely being caused by something you'd see advertised at three o'clock in the morning on some fucking info-mercial. _But that's not all…!_

Somebody just give me a gun and let me blow my own God damned head off already. Between the pain and the stupid shit flying through my brain, I just can't take it any more.

"Que?"

"Nothing – nothing," I reply – fuck it I'm slipping. I wasn't aware that I'd spoken out loud. I try to go back to the simple business of walking… "Where are we going, anyway?" I don't really care – I just want something else to think about for a few minutes. I'm starting to see that guy with the question marks all over his jacket – you know, the one who wants to sell you his book on how to get free money… Jesus _Fucking_ Christ, where's my God damned gun…?

"There is a lady – Americana like you."

That stops me in my tracks and vanquishes all images of cheesy info-mercial gimmicks quite instantly. "Like me?"

"Si, tourista – only she never go home again."

"I'm no tourist, kid."

"Si."

That's it – "yes"? That's the kid's only acknowledgement of me – of the last hour or so of his young life – of holding a gun and using to shoot some asshole – of watching me shoot a bunch of other assholes – and one bitch that I wish I could have spent a lot more time killing… of me getting my ass pumped so full of lead I can hardly stand… and all this kid can say is "yes"? Well – fuck me with a chainsaw, what is there to say anyway?

In the distance, I can heavy vehicles moving in – maybe some kind of army truck? They don't seem to be headed this way – but they're close. Fuck. If anyone sees me… so I manage to take a few more steps. I'm not quite ready to die. (Or at the very least, I'm not ready to be caught… shit, I hope those gypsies are satisfied, because if not… fuck, how much bad Karma do I have floating out there? I don't even believe in it… but if I did, haven't I paid my debt already? I've lost my eyes – my sight… even if I hadn't been burned, there'd be no going back to my old life…)

My guide finally stops. "Here it is," he tells me and sets my hands on a tall iron fence – I'm not sure if he wants me to know what it is – or if he just doesn't trust me not to fall over again. The fence is high – there's some kind of shrubbery on the other side – so one probably couldn't get a good view of the courtyard beyond from the street. Good. Beyond the shrubbery, there's a fountain – I can hear the water trickling. Then I hear the gate creaking on its hinges. The boy he urges me through and shuts the gate securely behind us. I hear it latch shut. Good, good. Some sense of security.

Under my the soles of my boots, I feel well worn cobblestone. Reaching out with one hand, I feel off to the side.

"Careful senor – the bushes are thorny," the boy says.

And indeed, my hand comes into contact with something sharp – it doesn't penetrate the gloves. "Where are we?"

"This is the house," he says, "De la Doctora."

_Doctora?_ "No," I begin to protest taking an involuntary step backwards – no doctors – no fucking way… I've had enough doctors for one fucking day… for a fucking lifetime!

My stomach gives a sudden heave-ho – I try to tell myself it's just a reaction to Dr. Mengola's drug cocktail (rather than having anything at all to do with the icy terror trickling down my spine)… But regardless the reason, I find myself on all fours puking my guts out in La Doctora's petunias (or at least that's the image that comes to mind as I'm retching into some sweet smelling flower bed near those damned thorn bushes).

Each heave leaves me shaking, wishing for a quicker end to the agony wracking me – because each heave makes the pain (oh what a fucking pale word!) that much worse… if there is a Hell, I think I've found it. Or maybe, just maybe, it's found me…

Hands on my shoulders bring some vague cognizance – I reach for the gun that isn't there any more – fuck me! Why isn't there a gun – what kind of fuckmook am I…? _Shit, fuck, damn and Hell!_ I curse at myself, lashing out at my attacker – but let's face it, boys and girls, I've seen better days. I loose my balance and I'm kissing dirt. Where the fuck is the kid, why didn't he at least warn me? I kick – damn that hurt – and I realize that that howling I keep hearing in the distance is really me, screeching as hot knives drive themselves through my flesh. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Where the hell is the kid!

But I already know the answer to _that_ stupid question. This is another set up.

_And you didn't even see it coming…_ at least this time I've got an excuse, not that it makes me feel much better about the situation. Dark oblivion embraces me and I embrace it right back, taking no small comfort in the fact that no matter what they do to me now, they won't be able to keep me alive for very much longer…


	3. Cowboys and Angels

**To: cptn-jacks-bonnie-lass**

- my first review on this one, yeah! Thank you, thank you! And yes "very different" is what I tend to do…I'm really enjoying writing this one - because it's such a departure for me - particularly stylistically. I haven't written first person presant tense in... longer than I care to admit to in public grin It's just a little creepy getting THAT caught up in Sands' head.

Even though he isn't actually going to see it, I'd like to publically acknowledge my wonderful, supportive, amazing husband for putting up with the amount of time I spend writing. He's the best.

Chapter Two:

_Cowboys and Angels_

Pine. Cinnamon? Rustling paper. Old furniture. You know the smell – sort of like mothballs and rotting fabric…? Yeah, pew-yew is right, kemo sabe.

Against my back, I feel scratchy fabric. I'm sitting up. I feel dizzy – then it lifts. Vanilla candles. I smell vanilla candles. What the fuck?

Slowly, I open my eyes… and realize I have eyes to open.

It was just a dream? Oh, Christ… but… wait. _There's more._

No.

Christ, no.

I inhale raggedly and try to figure out where I am.

I'm seated on a green, yellowand pink sofa - it is the most unimaginably tacky floral print. There are boxy side tables on either side, each sporting ahideous, _hideous_ lamp… the carpet is gold - thin... worn... there's a little black and white TV set in the corner…a statue of a llama stands on a shelf by the door... I painted that staute. Needless to say, it's just as well I never pursued a career in art.

Yes... yes... of course...this is my mother's living room. The one from the first apartment she had when I was little – only I can tell by the way the room looks so small that I'm not little any more… except that I am, I can see myself, sitting next to the Christmas tree, looking at the scant booty… but I seem to remember having been happy. It's easy to be happy when you're a kid. A cowboy hat and plastic pistol are all it really takes. I watch myself rip into the presents – and there it is – that hat. Gawd, does it look cheesy to my adult eyes – but to the eyes of a child who worships guys like the Lone Ranger, that big white hat is the most beautiful sight in the world. Until I get to the pistols. Real, genuine, shiny silver plastic and tin – complete with a real, genuine pleather holster and gun belt… and the vest. God, I'd almost forgotten about that vest – it's got fringe and there's a sheriff's badge to go with it… I think I was six.

Sleepily, Mom comes in from the bedroom – it's gotta be like five a.m. Alison is still asleep in the room we share – I remember trying to wake her up, but at two, she didn't quite grasp the significance of December twenty fifth. By next year she will.

I look at my mother – both me's do – fuck, this should be weirder than it is. Mom looks tired – not just sleepy. Worn out. Defeated. She lights a cigarette and ambles towards the kitchen to make herself a pot of coffee. It's all she's going to have for breakfast or lunch. Times were lean. But she's smiling.

The adult me sees the smile on her face for what it is – sad. The kid just sees the smile with no real way to know what it's all about – he's too busy showing her what Santa's brought. I think it was another five or six years before I swore I'd never be that poor again. Even if it wasn't her fault – when your old man runs out on you and your only life skill is housewife and mommy… things get lean fast.

And maybe I didn't make it to her funeral – but I made sure she got what he owed her.

See, I've never spoken to my father – but when some compromising photos showed up on his desk one morning – well, he had his reputation to protect. Not to mention his third marriage. The note with the photos just said that it would be an awful shame if the third Mrs. Sands ended up seeing those same pictures – but if he could manage to start paying the first Mrs. Sands some of that back child support and alimony, it would go a long way towards making sure no one else ever found out what I knew… funny how the money started flowing after that. Yeah, I'm a creep, just like him – but at least I've taken care of my obligations. Emma will never go without. Neither will Holly – wonder what she'll say when she discovers I put her on my life insurance… her and Alison. They'll probably both say the same thing: too little, too late. But at least I take care of my obligations…

The sound of my mother crying draws me to the kitchen – she's weeping so softly the child me can't hear… I stand back and watch her get herself back under control. No, I wasn't about to hug her. I am _not_ a touchy feely person – haven't you picked up on that by now? Christ.

No, I just stand and watch. I know this is some kind of dream – I know I'm going to wake up in a cell somewhere – or strapped to a "hospital" bed with some crazed mad man standing over me with his tray full of shiny pointy things. I know I'm going to die soon. What I don't know is how long it's going to take – and how much it's going to hurt.

As if in answer to my question, I feel something new. Something alien. Burning. Cold. It's so cold, I feel like I'm burning up from the inside out. A thousand knives dig in – myleft armis on fire – I feel myself wanting to scream with it – but I won't scream. I won't give that fucking bastard the satisfaction. Around me, I hear strange noises… then a fog sets in. I fall into it…

Wait. I still have eyes. Just for a few moments longer, I have eyes. It's like time has gotten all screwed up or something…

I'm standing outside the Flying Cow, on my cell phone, yelling some fuckmook for being a complete moron…

The Flying Cow. Where I'm meeting Ajedrez.

Ajedrez – _you never saw it coming…?_ I don't know what she's talking about – I know things are starting to fall apart… but I don't know how much until I feel the sharp prick in the side of my neck… Fuck me! No, I never saw this coming, she was supposed to run away with me. We were going to spend the next few months drinking tequila on the beach and screwing like horny rabbits! How did this happen? I'm the great Machiavellian – how did everything unravel so completely? (I can see the shreds of my scheme literally falling away from me, unraveling as they tumble down into some kind of big black abyss… fucking weird.)

I'm in a room. It's mostly dark. But I can see Barilla – his face is like a mummy's mask. And Ajedrez is standing next to him. She tells me she's his daughter… fuck me but good! Yes, yes, she did fuck me good… real good. Too good…

I'm strapped down – no use struggling – but I warn Barilla, he doesn't want to kill me. That would be crossing a line even he doesn't want to cross. It's horse shit, of course – but maybe he'll believe me… so why the fuck does he seem so glib…?

_You've **seen** too much… _and when I see the little silver drill Guevara is holding, the meaning of those words hits home… I never saw it coming… I'm never going to see anything coming again. And for the first time in my life I think I'm honestly, truly afraid… I'm trying like Hell not to let it show – trying to figure some way out of this mess I've made…

See, I wouldn't be afraid if he'd said he was going to kill me – a little pissed off maybe – but not scared. I've never been afraid to die. Death is easy.

But this? This is different… this is… worse… he's going to leave me as a freak… helpless… alone in the dark… oh yeah, and he's going to make sure I'm awake through the entire gruesome procedure…

I feel the sharp prick as the needle goes into my flesh, pumping me full of more drugs – then the drill, coming at my eye – fuck – I hold out as long as I can, but eventually the screaming starts… _they can't do this to me…_ goo is running down my face and my throat aches from the overuse… And the world has gone from red to black...

And I'm all alone.

In the dark.

Rough hands pull me up, push me out the door.

I stumble into the blistering Mexican sun but I can't see. I know how bright it should be – but I can't see any of it.

People walk past – voices chatting, laughing – oblivious – traffic, rubber on cobblestone – I don't know where I am. Panic rises.

I want to wake up now – if this is just some fucked up hallucination brought on by the drugs, **I want to wake up now!** _Please…_

But I don't wake up. I can feel the drugs still circulating through my system, making my brain feel like it's stuffed full with cotton. I stumble over the something in the street – I can hear them still laughing, Barillo and his goons… and… Chet? Do I hear Chet and _his_ goons too, jeering at me in the dark? Him and a host of other bullies like him, mother fuckers who got their jollies picking on the new kid – the little kid – the poor kid – the kid with patches on every piece of clothing he owns because all of it comes from the Good Will… The world around me is spinning out of control as I realize just how helpless I really am. I feel my stomach heaving – but I won't let myself be sick. I won't let them see what they've done to me! I will at least maintain control of my own body!

"My name is Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. I work for the Central Intelligence Agency," I tell myself, as if someone needs to reassure me of my own identity... I'm Sheldon Jeffery, Fucking, Sands! "I throw shapes. I set them up. I watch them fall." I'm in charge of my own destiny and the lives of the mother fuckers around me. I am the grand puppet master… "I am living la vida loca."

And I'm stumbling through the dusty Mexican street with the sun beating down hard, but unable to penetrate the endless night that's enveloped me… no, no, no this can't be right.

This already happened – it happened was hours ago.

I _remember_ stumbling through the street.

I remember the kid.

And the guy following me.

And being shot.

I remember arguing with a taxi driver.

And a phone that doesn't work.

I remember bullets flying, mostly through me. I remember killing that bitch – yes, that's a good memory. I savour it for just a moment more before trying to remember what else has happened.

_Oh please just let me wake up…_

The kid.

He said he'd help me.

Take me some place where I could rest.

Only he didn't. He brought me here – wherever the fuck here is. All I can see is nothing.

All I know is that I've been set up. Again.

My breath is ragged.

My limbs are heavy.

My head doesn't hurt yet, but I know it's going to. And it's not the prospect of the inevitable pain that scares me (even if I think maybe it should.) What scares me is the dark.

I'm scared out my mind because I know I'll never see again – I know this isn't some fucked up dream. I'm blind. Blind equals helpless.

And on top of all that, I let myself get screwed up the ass by a ten year old Mexican kid. I wonder what the fuck he's getting out of this… hope it's something good.

_Living la vida loca…_ I hate the song...

I lie still, trying to get my bearings. It's not easy when the room won't stop spinning – but – vanilla candles. And cinnamon. So those were real? And why do I smell – oranges? Oranges and something floral – musky. What is that?

And I guess I make enough of a sound that my captor realizes I'm finally back amongst the living… at least for now.

"Easy there, Cowboy," an angel's sweet, sweet voice cuts through the black haze of fire and ice and lead and pain. My stomach starts to heave-ho again and acid rises up to burn the back of my throat. I gag – and hate myself for it – it betrays weakness – I'm not a weak man!

"None of that," the angel tells me sternly. "There's nothing left to come up anyway."

"How the fuck would you know?" I mutter back at her – coming to another second sobering realization. My throat is raw. Achingly, agonizingly raw. That means I must've been screaming for real, not just in the nightmare. I try to ignore my utter helplessness for the moment and concentrate on getting some kind of handle on the situation. I'm lying down (I have to work very hard to ignore the memory of the last time I woke up like this...) The surface beneath me is cool but not cold – hard – not metal – there's a sheet (a pretty thin one, I'd bet) between me and it, but I'm pretty sure it's not metal. Wood? A table? I listen – but it's hard to hear anything over the beat of my own heart at the moment. It's thumping loudly with real fear – fear I'm trying very hard not to acknowledge.

I take another breath and force myself to get a grip.

I can feel some sort of tight binding on my upper left arm and around each thigh – but I don't seem to be tied down… odd.

Slowly, I reach up to my face – and I'm surprised to find the dark glasses still in place. The gloves have come off my hands – I realize that I'm shirtless – but she's left the glasses on. "Where am I?" I'm pleased that I manage to sound calmer than I feel.

"Relax, Cowboy," she says. "You passed out – probably from blood loss. How do you feel?"

"How the fuck should I feel?"

"Like you've been shot – amongst other things." Her tone is clinical. Cold. Calculated.

I swallow hard. "How long was I out?" I wonder if she'll even give me an honest answer – it's not like I have any way of knowing.

"Not long. Maybe twenty minutes."

Fuck. It felt like I was stuck in Nightmareville forever… maybe I was. "Who are you?"

"La Doctora," she answers in an odd tone.

And I wonder fleetingly if like El, she just goes by "The". Christ – what is it with these Mexicans? But – wait – kid said she was a tourist… kid said a lot of things. I can't trust any of it. I can't trust anyone that I can't look in the eye – and I can't look anybody in the eye any more. Shit. I do not like this helpless thing one bit.

I give myself a good mental shake – I wasn't so helpless that I couldn't kill what – three men? And that fucking bitch… _Sheldon Jeffrey Sands will not be taken down so easily_, I tell myself firmly. I'm not quite sure I believe my own bullshit - but it sounds good at least.

Deciding to test the notion that I'm not tied down, I give sitting up a try – only to find her hand on my chest. I tense at her touch – it's involuntary – there's something about uninvited human contact just now… I swallow hard, feeling the rawness of my throat all over again. No – I will not give into the fear creeping over me. I am Sheldon Jeffrey _Fucking_ Sands. I'm not afraid of anything – not even the dark.

"Slow down, Cowboy – I don't want you passing out on me again."

"What makes you so fucking special, Toots?" I growl, grabbing her wrist with more strength – and speed – than even _I _think I should have at my disposal at the moment. Further, I realize I don't hurt quite as much as I did before I passed out –_ if_ I passed out, I might have been drugged again. _Well, no fuck, fuckmook,_ I tell myself – my undoing was trusting someone, anyone – even a fucking little kid. No one is innocent. No one is trustworthy – everyone will betray you, given sufficient time and motive. Why the hell don't I know that by now? "Where I am?" I repeat the first question more forcefully, twisting her wrist hard as I speak – I'm satisfied by the sound she makes. It isn't quite a whimper – but I've hurt her. That knowledge brings back some of my sense of control. Blind and shot, I can still hurt someone. Damn, what I wouldn't do for a cigarette right about now.

(The back of my brain is nagging at me again – I tell it to shut the fuck up. Just because there aren't any men with guns swarming all over me doesn't mean I'm out of danger, yet.)

The woman with the angelic voice is very still. "If you do that again, I might just let you bleed to death on principle." The anger in her voice is unmistakable.

"Tsk, tsk, Darlin'," I cluck my tongue at her. "You'll ruin your good reputation as a doctor if you do that."

She doesn't try to pull away – but – she seems to be considering something. Probably trying to decide just how dangerous I really am – I wonder what the kid told her about me.

I have to make a couple of decisions – decisions I'd usually make staring someone square in the eye, getting a beat on what they're really feeling – but I don't have that luxury. So I listen to her breathing – it's a little unsteady – anger or fear? I can't decide. That knowledge would help – but her tone says angry, so I guess I'll just have to go with that. "If you don't help me, I'll break more than your wrist, Darlin'," I say with sweet malice.

I can almost hear her jaw clench tight, "Then just who in Hades will patch you up?"

Fear. There is a definitely a frightened edge to her voice – it sends shivers up my spine. The good kind of shivers. I haven't lost it – I can still intimidate someone. "Guess that puts us at an impasse, doesn't it?" I tighten my grip just a little and feel her tense up. Damn, this is good.

"What do you want from me? I've _been_ trying to help you." Her fear is escalating.

That makes me smile. "I want to know who you are and where I am," as I speak, I pull her closer still. We're nose to fucking nose.

"I'm a nurse, ok? I moved here about a year ago – the locals call me – La Doctora."

I hear the hesitation in her voice and wonder what she's leaving out…

"Who do you work for?"

"I don't _work_ for anyone. Now do you want my help or don't you?"

I consider my options. I don't like any of them. I need medical attention. A hospital is out of the question… but I don't like having to trust someone – every time I do, I wind up even deeper in shit. "The kid - where is he?" I ask - don't ask me why I care - I don't know myself. Maybe a part of me just needs to believe he didn't betray me. Maybe a part of me is just desperate enough to trust a complete stranger.

"I sent Heramano home," she tells me. "Now, are you going to let me look at those holes in your –"

I falter. Fuck! She twists free instantly. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I can imagine her standing there, rubbing her sore wrist, probably looking all pleased with herself – just like a God damned woman. Her voice, however, is still cold with frightened rage. "Arms and legs," she finishes her sentence. "Or I am really going to have to let you bleed to death in my kitchen?"

She knows. I know she knows. I don't know if she took a sneak peek while I was out – or if it's just that obvious. But she knows. And why the fuck do I care…? Maybe because having someone else know makes it more real… more inescapable. More – _permanent_.

"I really hadn't planned on bleeding to death anywhere today," I tell her. I sound defeated even to myself. I'm blind. I'm more than blind. Maybe I should just have her let me bleed to death… no. I'm not a quitter. I've never been a quitter. I become aware of her voice...

"I've already given you something for pain – _in case_ you hadn't noticed – and something for infection. I _hope _you're not allergic to penicillin."

Given her tone, I'm not so sure she really doesn't hope I'll have some kind of nasty reaction – but it isn't the penicillin that worries me. "For pain – what did you give me?"

"OxyContin – it's –"

"I know what the fuck it is," and now I know why I feel so woozy. She might as well have given me heroine. "Any chance you've got a smoke on you?"

I can almost feel her giving me a look. Then I hear movement – and feel a cigarette touch my lips. "You really are an angel," I mutter – I can feel the warmth of the flame as she holds a lighter (because I haven't heard or smelled a striking match) to the end of the cigarette – and I realize how fucking hard it is to get a cigarette lit when you can't see… fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I don't like this. I don't like any of this. I am really fucking ready to wake up – now would be just about dandy… but I know it's not going to work. I'm not going to wake up. I am awake. This is my life. This – darkness. This – helplessness – this emptiness. This is all she wrote; the Fat Lady has sung her song and the curtain is coming down…

"I don't think _anyone_ has ever called me an angel before," replies 'La Doctora', withdrawing the flame. I think I can hear a smile in her voice – but it's too hard to tell in the dark.

I inhale deeply, and let the nicotine work its magic on my jangled nerves while "La" (when in Rome, right?) putters around a little. I strain – but I can't figure out what she's doing. "So who are you?" I manage to make my tone almost conversational – because what the Hell is a nurse doing with OxyContin in her bag? And what's an American nurse doing living in this Hell Hole, anyway? Even with my system pumped full of drugs, I realize there's a lot that isn't adding up.

"Just someone who gives a shit," she replies – then I think I hear her voice falter – but she's speaking again. "Sit back and try to relax," she tells me. There's something in her voice… I wish I could see her. I wish I could see... not now, I tell myself. I manage to just go about the business of smoking while she does her thing.

It's not that I trust her – it just goes back to what choice do I really have? Either let her tend the wounds or I bleed to death in her kitchen. All things considered, I guess I'll let her tend the wounds and hope for the best. After all, when I grabbed her, a bunch of goons with guns didn't come storming in… so maybe she really is just some American who came down here to ease her guilty conscience for living the good life while the rest of the world suffered, or some kind of shit like that. Probably some trust fund brat – maybe rebelling against Daddy and his evil ways – old man might run an oil company – or McDonald's. I take a nice long drag of the cigarette trying to identify the brand. I've smoked just about every kind of cigarette ever made… she tells me that I need to ash and holds up something – a can, I think – to ash into. "Gracias," I say in my worst American accent – and she chuckles. Maybe I shouldn't make her do that when she's this close to me holding God knows what… but she hasn't hurt me yet.

"Holler if this is too hot," She says, just before rinsing me down with very warm water – and the most gentle hands imaginable.

The warmth of the water seems to remind me that I'm alive – that I still breathe. That it isn't always going to hurt this bad… "God in Heaven," I murmur. Nothing has felt so good in a fuck of a long time.

"Not exactly," she says, "But if you'd like to promote me from angel to All Might, I guess I'll the job – hopefully it comes with a raise – I could use a new car."

I know she's smiling.

"You have the strangest bedside manner I've ever encountered."

"And I have the funny feeling you've encountered plenty," is her quick retort.

"Let's just say I fall down a lot and leave it at that."

I hear her laugh again – but it isn't half as jovial. I file that away for future reference – although with any luck I'll be outa here long before I have the chance to need it; I locate the ash-can easily enough and flick.

It's hard to imagine that less than fifteen minutes ago, I was threatening this woman with bodily harm – and I'd say that maybe she didn't believe me, but I know the sound of fear in a woman's voice. She was honestly terrified of me – she believed I'd go through with hurting her. Good thing she believed it – I would have. I still could. I just don't happen to want to…

"This is going to sting," she says, breaking me from my thoughts.

"What's going to sting?"

"It's just iodine." I get the feeling that if I could see, I'd know that… but I'm convinced she already knows I can't see a damn thing.

I feel her applying the stuff to my side – and hiss as it goes to work killing germs.

"It looks like you're lucky," she tells me, "Bullet went straight through – and doesn't seem to have punctured anything major – you're just going to need a couple of stitches."

I snort. Yeah. Lucky. Sure, lady.

"You want another?"

"Huh?"

"Cig – that one's almost out."

"Oh – yeah – thanks." I think that maybe the last – twelve, fifteen hours, maybe – are finally catching up to me. My mind is actually starting to slow down… a part of me just wants to sleep – and hopefully never wake up again. Or wake up on a beech somewhere with some pretty little piece of ass and a great big bottle of tequila… but that's not going to happen.

I'm not going to let my guard down, either, not until I figure out who my angel really is – other than someone who gives a shit. Enough of a shit that this time the cigarette she slips between my lips is already lit – I mutter my gratitude.

"I'm going to stitch this, then bandage it," she warns. "This will probably hurt."

"No sweat, Sugar Butt" is my only reply, "Stitch away."

I can't tell if her sigh is exasperation – or amusement. Hell, I might just be the most interesting patient to grace her table all year. She gives me just enough warning so that I manage to extract the cigarette from my lips before she starts sewing my flesh – gritting your teeth is a good way to ruin a good fag.

Her fingers are nimble – quick. Gentle. "All done," she announces after a few moments. She lets me take another drag before getting to the exit hole. "You must have really pissed someone off," she muses aloud as she cleans, then stitches it – two quick stitches and she's done. I wonder if she's fishing – or just chatty. If I could look into her eyes, I could know for sure…

"Yeah, I'm pretty good at pissing people off," it's the obvious answer.

"I never would have guessed," her tone is entirely sarcastic.

I'm not getting any kind of duplicity vibe from her… 'course, I didn't get that vibe from Ajedrez either. Look how good the old Spidy senses let me right the fuck down on that one… I used to really pride myself in my ability to read people.

I almost jump when I feel a pair of strong arms encircling me – but it's just my angel wrapping me with gauze. "Easy on the goods there, Darlin'," I try to hide my reaction behind a wise ass comment. I feel more than hear the rumble of laughter deep within in her throat. Her arms are bare – her flesh is warm. Her blouse is made of soft cotton – tiny buttons brush up against my skin. And I realize that she's the source of that orangey-floral-musky scent. It must be her cologne. I've never known anyone who wore anything quite so – exotic. And as she presses up against me, I get the feeling that she's thin – not skinny – but not the curvy type I usually fall into bed with – although her tits are nice…

"Don't go getting any bright ideas, there Cowboy," she tells me softly. I'm pretty sure she's smiling – but damn, even doped up on "hillbilly heroine," I shouldn't be_ that_ transparent. Christ, I really am loosing it.

Then she straightens and is all business again: "I already took a bullet out of your arm – did it while you were out – it was pretty close to the surface," she tells me. "But now I need to you to take off your pants."

"Jeez – usually I make a pretty girl wait until at least the second date before letting her get into my trousers," I quip back. Of course, it's a total lie… and why do I get the feeling she knows that too…

"Well, Cowboy, then I guess it's a good thing for you I'm not your prom date."

"Guess so," I reply and start by taking off my belt.

"Nice belt buckle," she snorts as I hand it to her.

I have to think a moment – oh yeah, "Mary Jane," I smirk. My 'buddies' down at the DEA hate this one. I hear her put it down behind her – the metal of the belt buckle contacts with what sounds like ceramic – probably tile. Not unusual in someone's kitchen… come to think of it, I have only her word to go on… I try to hid my displeasure at that revelation. I'm having too damned many disconcerting revelations today. As I fumble with the zipper, I feel her hands on mine. "What's the rush, Sugar butt?" I'm doing it again, covering up my lack of paying attention with wit and charm. Or at least a smart assed comment.

She doesn't answer. Maybe I've finally pissed her off.

"What's your name, anyway – or are you like that mariachi guy, just a title without a name?" I ask. I never was good at leaving well enough alone.

I'm pretty sure she smiles, "No, I'm not like El."

I'm surprised and I don't bother to try hiding it, "You know him? Most people I've run into say he's just a myth, a folk hero."

"He's a man."

"Uh-huh."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Cowboy. I said I knew him, not that I knew him," she says it in Spanish. In Spanish, there's to know and _to know. _Apparently, she only knows El, rather than _knowing_ him. Or so she claims…

But what I'd like to know is how she knew what I was thinking. "Why do you keep calling me Cowboy?" I ask instead (in English) – it might make some difference to my future if she knows El – or _knows _him – but I'm not willing to admit to how well I know him – at least not yet. This of course, is assuming he's survived. But somehow I find that quite probable. And I'm aware that she seems to be deciding how to answer my question. Interesting.

"It just seems to fit," she begins a little awkwardly. "You did pay attention to what you were wearing when you left the house this morning, right?"

I'm silent for a moment. Yeah. I was going to meet a woman… I thought that woman would appreciate the black duds…

"Sorry."

I just shake my head. Mostly it's just my apparent transparency that's bugging the shit out of me. Nobody reads me like a book. Nobody… "So – how about it – you got a name – or do I really have to call you 'La'?"

She almost laughs, "It's Beth. What about you?"

"Sands."

"First, last or middle?"

"Last."

I realize she's pulling my boots off – I start to shimmy out of the pants – but I can't do it sitting down. She helps me up – I have to steady myself with one hand on the table – the other hand lands on her shoulder – she peels the tight, blood soaked pants from my legs – because standing on my own doesn't seem to be an option... "You know, under more amenable circumstances," I begin… her head is right where it should be… course I think I'm in way too much pain to really enjoy it… especially when she makes a noise I really don't like the sound of. "Usually women _like_ what they see when I take my pants off," I tell her – I know I'm not doing a very good job of hiding some good old-fashioned fear behind that last lascivious comment. She's awfully close to ol' Johnny there – and I'd hate to think he was a casualty of this afternoon's clusterfuck.

"Right side looks good – it went clean through. Left side wasn't so lucky. Bullet's lodged in your leg," she tells me simply as I find my way back onto the table.

Sitting is considerably easier than standing right now.

"So take it out. I have faith in you." Right. I don't have faith in anything any more – except maybe one more screw-over.

"I was able to get the bullet out of your arm because it was close to the surface. The one lodged in your thigh is not only deep it's – "

"Major blood vessels," I finish for her. Yeah, I've had basic anatomy. Things like that come in real handy from time to time…

"There's a small hospital not too far from here –"

"No."

"Listen to me, Cowboy – I'm a nurse, not a surgeon. I can patch the rest of you up – I can even stay with you while they operate –"

"No. No doctors. No hospitals. No room for negotiation," I tell her in a tone that I'm pretty sure leaves no room to argue.

"If that stays in there – you could loose the leg," her tone seems to imply she thinks I'm crazy.

Well take a number and stand in line, Toots – most people think I fell off my rocker years ago. "Give me a knife – I'll dig it out myself if I have to." Like I just said…

"Christ on a crutch," she swears. "Look –" she stops. Is she aware of the bitter irony of that word…? I hear a heavy sigh. Yep. She is.

I hear her open her mouth – and I just shake my head. I don't care if it was going to be an apology or more arguments about physicians. And I surprise myself (again) by what I say next. "I've already seen one doctor today – savvy?" for emphasis I tap the arm of the dark glasses lightly with my fingertip.

There is a very, very long silence. Finally, she speaks, resignation weighing down her otherwise beautifully angelic voice: "Ok, Cowboy. I managed to get through three years of medical school before dropping out. I can't promise you won't have a hell of a scar – but I can probably get it out without lopping your leg off in the process – but it's gonna hurt like a son of a bitch."

"Lady – compared with the rest of my day, having you dig around in my leg will be a walk in the park."

I hear her pause and wonder what now…

"I'd like to take off the glasses before I get to work on that leg."

I start to protest, but before I can say much, my stomach does its thing again; strong female hands catch me before I fall over. "Nice catch," I mutter, as bile burns the back of my throat. If this keeps up for much longer, I'm going to be in real trouble… as if I'm not already.

"Let's get a couple of things straight right here and now – numero uno is that I do not allow my patients to puke on my shoes. Got it?"

"Got it, Chief," I manage to say in a light tone. I'm almost beginning to enjoy her bedside manner – and I find myself wondering what she looks like, other than thin… _God, Jeff, you really are a fucking letch._

"Good. Now – the glasses."

I raise my hand, even though she hasn't actually made a move towards me – that I'm aware of. I'm pretty sure she realizes that there's more to it than just the obvious – because yeah, even I'm willing to admit that psychologically I'm not really ready to think about it for more than thirty seconds at a time.

"You've obviously suffered some kind of facial injury –"

"And you've gotta have a pretty good idea what it is," I tell her; damn, my voice sounds cold even to me.

"And _you _know I need to see the extent of the damage."

"No."

"If there's any chance of even partial recovery –"

"There isn't - and I know you already know that." Fuck. Admitting it out loud – _hurts_. I get the feeling she's acutely aware of just how much it hurts. A gentle hand touches my arm. "If I wanted sympathy, Sugar Butt, I'd look between shit and syphilis in the dictionary," I growl at her – Christ. Right. Sure I would. As soon as I learn fucking Braille! Her hand is still on my arm – so I try to shrug it off – but she won't budge. I've decided I really don't like being touched right now. "I'm warning you –" I begin in a tone carefully calculated to scare the crap right out of her...

"Stop being an ass," she snaps at me in the same tone I imagine one might use on an errant child. "You weren't getting sympathy from me before – and you sure as Hades aren't going to get it now, Cowboy, so don't get your knickers in a bunch."

Fuck. What is it about this woman… I swear, if I didn't need her help, I'd reach right out and stranger her where she stands! "Just point me in the direction of your bathroom – I can take care of my own God damned face."

"Will you at least give me some clue about the extent of the damage?" She's being clinical again. Efficient. But I'm pretty sure I can still hear something – soft – in her voice. The sound of someone who gives a shit…

No one has ever given a shit about me before… ok, so that's notreally true. Plenty of people have tried. But I always did a real good job of driving them off. It's no accident I'm an asshole, you know. "What difference does it make how badthe -the damage -really is?"

"I don't think I need to tell you how sensitive that area is – and the kinds of problems you could have if the infection is serious enough – because I don't get the impression your 'doctor' used sterile equipment." Her voice turns icy when she says 'doctor' – she's understood my meaning exactly.

This time I intended for her too get it – but it's still disconcerting how easily this woman reads me… "I doubt it," I answer her in tone that matches hers. Truth is I hadn't thought about it before now – but an infection that close to the brain… Christ. Talk about your fucking sobering thoughts.

"So – give me some kind of idea what I'm up against."

"A Cowboy with a stubborn streak the size of the Grand Canyon," I quip back at her. Yeah, yeah, yeah, self defense mechanism. Or maybe a self-destruct mechanism by this point.

She's quiet for several long, cold moments. "Ok, have it your way. I have iodine, hydrogen peroxide and isopropyl alcohol. I don't recommend the latter."

"I'm a sadist, not a masochist, Sugar Butt," I tell her. "I'll take the hydrogen peroxide – and something for pain, something I can apply topically." Because this is gonna hurt…

"To your eyes?" she sounds surprised.

She didn't know… _she really didn't look_… I'm caught completely off guard by this. "There uh – isn't that much left to worry about," I don't quite turn my head away from her as I say it, swallowing hard to drive the gorge back down into my stomach. Even blind, I don't want to face what I'm sure she must be thinking.

There's more silence. I wonder if she's grateful that I have a stubborn streak the size of the Grand Canyon – grateful she won't really have to come face to face with lies behind these dark glasses of mine… I wonder if her mind is conjuring up images of what I must look like… I know mine is.

"I – have a limited supply of the OxyContin – will Codine do?" Her voice is quite, her tone neutral – hard to interpret.

"Yeah," I answer in an equally quiet, neutral tone. From now on Beth, whoever she really is, is going to look at me and see not just a crip, but a freak. Isn't that what Barillo wanted? Why he let me live. And then – her hand on my arm again. I try to shrug her off – but she's as fucking stubborn as before. "Just – don't, ok?" I ask. I don't want her pity. I don't want anything… at least not anything I have any chance of ever getting.

I want my sight back.

I want my _eyes_ back.

_**I want my life back. **_

And suddenly I realize just how close she is to me – her cologne covers me with its exotic sweetness. "Don't," I repeat the word – it sounds like a plea… what's happening to me? _God damn it, Sands, you're falling apart…_ Desperately, I mentally cling to the last vestiges of sanity – something every shrink I've ever been to has claimed was in scant supply to begin with… it's like watching a glass fall from a countertop and knowing you'll never get to it before it hits the floors and shatters… And she's still there. I don't even have the strength to reach out and strangle her…

"Give me a couple of minutes to get this leg cleaned up a little – then we'll get you to the bathroom," her voice doesn't have a single shred of pity – not an ounce of sympathy. It's not clinically cold either – not at all detached or even a little bit neutral... but I don't want to vomit at the sound of it.

"Thanks," I say. It may be the single most sincere word I've uttered in fifteen years…


	4. A Walk in the Park

_Yes, poor Sands really is in a lot of pain. I'm taking my time with the first few chapters to set up his headspace (I think his psyche is hurting a whole lot more than his body, given the last twelve hours or so). Butit does get better – and then worse – and then better – so hang in there with him – he's got a bit of a roller coaster ahead of him while he learns that it's safe to trust someone._

_----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Chapter Three:

_A Walk in the Park_

Neither of us speaks as she cleans up the leg and wraps me in what I can only assume is her bathrobe (it smells like her - it's not terry - but it's soft and warm...) Guess there isn't an El Doctoro in residence… that makes me feel oddly better, although damned if I know why.

"Neither leg is going to take much weight," she tells me.

I bite back the witty comment before it has a chance to escape... sometimes it's better not to completely piss someone off. And I need my angel. Even so, I resent her. I hate having to lean on her – having to depend on anyone for anything – having to trust anyone, even if it's just to get me to the bathroom in one piece. At the same time, I've kissed the ground enough times today that I can swallow what little my pride I have left and let her help me.

Even with Beth's help, walking is a struggle. My legs don't really want to support any weight at all… but that isn't why I'm freaking out. I've been shot before – I know that barring any nasty or unexpected surprises in a few weeks I won't even remember hurting – so it sucks – but I know that flesh heals.

No, I'm freaking because I'm vulnerable – exposed. She could be leading me anywhere – to a firing squad or a gas chamber, for instance. I don't quite believe that – but I acknowledge the possibility.

And even if that doesn't come to pass, in a few weeks, when I've forgotten all about havinga bullet in my leg, I'll still be blind. I'll be blind a few weeks after that – and after that and after that. I'll be blind for the rest of my life. And I am freaking out.

Deciding to focus my mind on something potentially more pleasant than what awaits me at the end of this agonizing walk, I pay close attention to the woman holding me up. Beth is shorter than I thought, coming only up to about my armpits (and I'm not really a tall man, so she can't be much more than five three, five four) and maybe not quite as thin as I'd imagined at first – but still definitely slender. "Your hair is short," I mutter, feeling around her back trying to find some hair. I've always enjoyed the feel of a woman's hair in my hands… let your mind wander where it will, amigo…

"It wasn't always," is her only answer – and I'm not sure what exactly I'm hearing in her voice when she says it – but whatever it is, it vanishes quickly with her next statement. "Count your steps."

"What?"

"From the kitchen to the bath – count your steps."

So much for where my mind wanted to go… but she's right. I have to start thinking like a blind man… I count thirteen steps down a hall that I'm pretty sure is narrow – there isn't much echo – and she's wearing rubber soled shoes – I've had to wait in enough dark rooms to know a thing or two about footsteps. I begin to realize that there are a lot of things I can already do without seeing… I killed four people this very afternoon without being able to see a God damned thing. That really isn't a bad day at all.

But I'm more than just blind. I've been mutilated - mamed. Made into a freak. And I'm about to find out just how bad it really is… and _that_, ladies and gentlemen, is freaking me right the Hell out. Or had I mentioned that part already...

"Sharp right," her words slice through my thoughts.

Less than two steps into the bathroom I find the sink to my right. It's small, deep – there's an open hole at the bottom – I find the chain and the stopper – my fingers locate the faucet with equal ease.

"Towels are to your right – I'm putting the bandages and peroxide on the counter to your left."

I feel her move behind me to set the supplies in easy reach, and I can't resist the urge to accuse her of copping a feel as she brushes up against my ass. She ignores it. Damn. She really is onto my self defense mechanisms.

"Toilet is just behind you," Beth goes on, "I'll be just outside the door, so of you need anything just holler."

"I'll be fine," I lie. Even if I'm not going to actually see it... I know what's there. What's _not_ there... My stomach is churning violently and I'm almost tempted to ask if she has any antacids… God, why the fuck do I even trust this woman! This is stupid – stupid… I don't quite realize that I'm clutching onto the sink in an effort not to fall over.

"You're sure –"

"Fuck me, yes I'm sure!" I snap – I don't think I mean to – but – damn it, I snap at her anyway. I don't even know what she was going to ask me I was sure about. Fuck.

Beth just sighs. "All right. Just holler if you need me, Cowboy," her voice is warm. She strokes my back gently – then leaves me to face myself. I hear the door click shut behind her - but I know she hasn't gone far.

A part of me wonders what the Hell I did to deserve her kindness – but the larger part of my brain is screaming that I don't need anyone – but I do need someone. I'm going to need someone for the rest of my miserable life… and for a fleeting instant I wonder how pissed she'd be if I just bled to death on her bathroom floor… maybe I could find the tub, make the clean up a little easier… _giving up isn't an option. Curling up and dying** isn't** an option…_

I spit out a mouth full of bile and contemplate a drink of water – but even I know better than drinking from the tap in Mexico.

Resigning myself to the task at hand, I feel for the towels. Right where she said they'd be. Likewise with the gauze – sterile packages of it. Good. And the peroxide. Which could be acid for all I know… but she hasn't screwed me over yet. _Yet._ I'm helpless and at the mercy of a total stranger – I have been forced into a position of having to trust someone – and trust just isn't something I'm good at…

I trusted Ajedrez. Fuck me. I _trusted_ her. I schemed schemes that _included _her. I liked her. I didn't love her. But I sure as Hell liked her an awful damned lot. Enough to plan some kind of happy ending with her… at least something that would be happy for the next few months, anyway... hey, a romantic, I am not.

"You're stalling," I mutter at myself.

Ok. I can do this.

No I can't.

But if I don't, Beth will.

And I'm not ready to have someone else see me like this.

I'm not ready to face my weaknesses – I'm even less ready to let someone else in on them… as if she doesn't already know… but never mind. I had my eyes drilled out while I was mostly conscious; Ithink that gives me the right to be a little irrational.

Little? Ok, so I'm being a lot irrational.

I reach up for the glasses; my hand freezes midway.

I can't do it. I can't even touch my face.

_God damn it, Sands! You're acting like a coward – a fucking yellow-bellied coward! You're so yellow, you're fucking canary yellow! _

_**I want my life back! **_

_God damn you, Barillo why the fuck didn't you just kill me…? You couldn't really have believed that the marines even knew you had me – or if that did, that they'd give a shit about a mother fucker like me!_

He had to know I was bluffing.

_But to kill me would mean ending my suffering – and you wanted me to suffer, didn't you fuckmook?_ Yeah – well, I'm not sure which one of us is going to have the last laugh – you're dead. I'm alive. And I'm suffering. "But I hope you're rotting in Hell," I growl. "I hope ol' Hob is having a field day with your sorry ass!"

I realize how close I am to sobbing… only… I'll bet I can't do that either… never mind that the last time I cried was when I was… ten? I want to cry now – and of all the fucking irony, I can't… but the effort is making my …sockets… burn and itch like nobody's business. Maybe it's just the OxyContin wearing off... but fuck, does it hurt. It's like a thousand white-hot needles tapping away at where my eyes used to be… I hang my head - the top of itthumps lightly against the mirror over the sink. If I make too much noise Beth'll come rushing in – but I want to shatter the glass. I want to shatter the glass and use a piece of it to… _don't ever give up, _the voice in my head isn't my own, but I don't know whose it is. Some Ghost of Christmas' Past maybe… God, I'm loosing it.

"Just get a grip," I tell myself aloud.

One deep breath.

A second one.

Time to face the music Sheldon.

I "look" up at the mirror – or at least I imagine that I can see myself, wrapped up in – what, pink maybe? A pink fluffy bathrobe. That picture's good for at least a two second chuckle.

Ok – enough stalling.

I remove the sunglasses that have been my security blanket for the last few hours. I set them down deliberately – and slowly begin examining the remains of my face with my fingertips.

Beth has cleaned away some of the blood already – but there's fresh ooze coming down. And my stomach heaves, although nothing comes up. _Breath Sands, just breathe,_ I tell myself. I feel for a towel and moisten it with some peroxide from the bottle she's provided. Carefully – fearfully – slowly – I start to clean the fresh blood from my cheeks. Thank God – they're still in tact at least…

In fact, most of my face seems to be right where I left it… God. I'm really loosing it.

I set down the towel and give an experimental touch to the swollen tissue around my left eye socket – acid on a burn… that's the only way to describe the pain. I grit my teeth and try to ignore it. It's nothing. Nothing compared to what's going on inside my head... Barillo has turned me into a skull-faced freak – the kind of man no woman is ever going to look at with anything but horror or pity in her eyes.The thought sickens me to the very core… I don't want pity and I only want fear on my own terms. But I don't get that choice any more. From now on, I'm a blind freak…

_Lucky you didn't do anything to warrant death. You've just **seen** too much… _those words echo through my brain... I see Ajedrez's pretty face smilling at me; in an amused tone she reminds me that I didn't even _**see**_ it coming… she must have been laughing at me the whole time... the whole six months we were fucking, she was laughing at me.

Six months. That's longer than I had with the mother of my God damned child...

"You ok?"

"Just peachy keen, Sugar Butt," I lie again. I'm pretty sure Beth knows I'm lying. But she seems to have the decency to let me pretend. "You got any tequila?"

"Yes – but you're not getting any."

"Even I promise to eat all my brussle sprouts?"

That gets her – she laughs. I mean really, really laughs.

And so do I. It's a real laugh – fuck me, when was the last time I laughed for real? I can't even remember… no, I can. But I choose not to. I'd rather just enjoy this moment of hysteria – because the rational part of my brain knows that I'm laughing because I've finally overloaded. I have used up every single coping mechanism I possess and I'm about to self destruct. I realize I'm sitting on the cold tile floor and I don't even remember how I got there – I hope to Hell her sink is strong because I'm never going to make it back onto my feet without using it to haul my sorry ass up. Blessedly, nothing breaks… I put my butt on the toilet – another small mercy, the lid was down.

Finally, on the other side of the door, Beth recovers herself as well, "Booze thins the blood, Cowboy – you've gotta know that."

"Yeah – I just don't care any more."

"Maybe in a couple of days – but I'll let you have all the cigs you want, in the meantime. Deal? Unless there's someplace you should be –?"

"There is," I say – I should be figuring out how to get out of Mexico and back home. If someone's tried to burn me – I have to figure out what the deal is – who – why – and what's the real extent of the damage to my career. I have to start figuring out what to do next… but my brain just isn't able to go there. I need sleep. I need sleep even more than I need booze – and I really fucking need acigarette right about now. "But no one else will let me smoke while convalescing."

"Glad to know Le Hospital de Beth is the preferred place of convalescence for nicotine addicts."

"You bet your sweet bottom," I tell her. And then I take a deep breath. Time to get this shit over with. I find my feet – find the sink. Find the peroxide... And… like the Nike commercial, I just do it.

I don't stop until the bottle is empty. The peroxcide has no doubt cleaned out any… material… that may have been… clinging… to the socket… after a couple of dry heaves I get myself back under control. Sort of.

I'm shaking. Probably some combination of drugs, exhaustion, and blood loss. And my legs have about had it – I let myself fall back onto the toilet sea. I'll bet I look like Quazi Modo right about now.

I give myself just a few seconds to pull it back together – then reach over and fumble the bandages. It's a little awkward doing this blind and shaking, but I manage to wrap my eyes – just a loose wrap. Just enough to cover them, keep out dust – keep out prying eyes… prying eyes. Fuck what an expression.

I grope for door handle – find it – I know she's standing right there– I feel a warmth radiating off her – smell her perfume. The scent of angels. "Well?"

"Well – I'd say you're right about knowing basic first aid," she says with approval, pressing a lit cigarette into my lips.

"You really _are_ an angel, Sugar Butt," I tell her. Damn, two sincere statements in one day. They're going to drum me right out of the Asshole's Guild if I keep this shit up.

I feel her smile – and with her help, I limp my sorry ass back to the kitchen – and I hardly resent her at all this time around.

"So what next?" I ask, settling myself back onto her kitchen table.

"That leg. And it is going to hurt."

"Like I said before – walk in the park."

Ok, walk in the park is a bit of an exaggeration – she doesn't have much she can use to numb the area she's about to hack in to – but she gives me what she's got. I don't feel anything as she slices… good… then… "This is gonna hurt," she warns just before going in with the tweezers…

Tweezers? It feels more like she's using God damned pliers to poke and prod around with in there; it's all I can do to keep from verbalizing the extreme discomfort I've found myself in. Gripping the edge of her kitchen table, I brace myself as she continues to explore my leg from the inside out. "Any time now, Sweet-cheeks," I mutter.

"Hold tight," she says – it's the only warning I get before she yanks the bullet free – with a good sized chunk of flesh, from the feel of things…

"Holy Christ!"

"Holy Christ, indeed," is her only reply – and I hear the bullet hit the kitchen sink behind her – it makes a distinctive _clang_. Then she's got something jammed down on the wound – probably to stop the bleeding – I can feel the blood pumping out, flowing fast. She works faster – grabbing my hand, she shoves it down on top of the gauze or towel or whatever it is – I wonder for a moment if I'm really going to get my wish about bleeding to death…

"No such luck," she mutters almost without thinking, it seems…

Now, I _know_ I didn't say that out loud… but there's only so much to think about it – the towel I've got pressed against my leg is already soaked through with blood... bullet must have been lodged up against an artery... probably snagged it on the way out.

"Relax, Cowboy – I was ready for this," she says, "Just hold on – this is _really_ gonna sting."

And my flesh catches fire as the liquid comes into contact with raw meat – _my_ raw meat. I'm ashamed to say I scream something unintelligible, instinctively reaching for the guns that are nowhere to be found – the rational part of my brain shuts down… I'm barely aware of… fire. The prick of a needle… no – no – no – no! … this is really it this time… I'm sure I smell charred flesh… charred human flesh…the darkness is closing in on me…

"Can you hear me?" the question repeats itself, "Come on, Cowboy – I need you to stay with me here."

"Fuck," I mutter – my voice is ragged.

"Maybe later – drink this."

Instinct again – I swat the glass away from my lips – I hear it shatter – the sound sends shivers down my spine – the bad kind of shivers. _Like a glass falling from a countertop and you know you'll never get to it before it hits the floor and shatters… _

_I wake up lying flat on my back, bound – Ajedrez is standing over me… behind her the Mummy – the new Barillo, she says… I've been tortured before… but Barillo doesn't want information… he just wants my eyes… _

I swallow hard trying to reorient myself to the room – it's dark. It's _dark_.

Dark.

Barillo is dead.

Ajedrez is dead.

I'm alive. _I'm_ alive.

"Come on, Cowboy," the voice says again. I know that voice.

There's a hand on my shoulder – I smell familiar orangey-floral-musky perfume.The scent of angels… not that I'll ever see heaven… of course, I'll never _see_ anything… because it's going to be dark for the rest of my life… but the fog is lifting...

"My leg?" I manage to ask. I'm more than a little afraid…

"I don't think I'm going to win surgeon of the year – but you'll live," she tells me, as she eases me into a sitting position.

"What happened?"

"Exactly what I was afraid was going to. I had to cauterize –"

I hold my hand up for her to stop. That explains the smell. That explains the burning. I think I can breathe again. She could be lying – but – there's some part of me that honestly believes her - because even assholes need to believe in something.

My hands reach out for her – I don't know why – I just – I need to feel something solid. Something real. I can't look into her eyes or read her body language – but maybe if I touch her, I can convince myself that she's really the angel she seems to be. I'm almost desperate to believe in something other than my own cynicism right now.

Her hands capture mine – her grip is strong. Warm. Real.

"Would you like that glass of water now?" She asks.

"Yeah – sure. Thanks."

"De nada," I can hear her smile. And the strangest thing – she never lets go of me – one handed, I hear her open the fridge – get out a bottle of water – open it – pour… hand it to me.

I'm still shaking – she has to help me get the glass to my lips – she has to hold it steady while I gulp down the liquid it contains – and it could be anything… but it tastes like water. The coolness of it feels good on my throat.

"Take it easy, Cowboy – I don't want you hurling – little sips," she instructs.

"Yes, Ma'am," I reply obediently. I really don't do well with authority figures… I hear her snicker. I smile back at her, just a little. I'm such an idiot. She could be poisoning me right now…

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Um – lunch. On the first – yesterday."

"Christ on a crutch," she swears again.

"I've never heard that one," I tell her – it's with reluctance that I let her pull away – not that I'd have the strength to onto hold her. I barely have the strength to onto hold myself.

"Hmm – oh – just something I read in a book," her voice is further away – she's on the other side of the room. I listen anxiously – she opens a cupboard – and another one – I hear a glass plate _clink _against the ceramic tile of the counter. Paper rustles. She puts something on the plate – puts something back in the cupboard.

"Here – it's not much – but I think you should take it easy," she lifts my hands and places into them a small, glass plate.

Shaky fingers feel for the objects it holds. Soda crackers. I almost smile. "Got any peanut butter?"

"Let's see if you can keep those down first," she tells me.

I listen to her wash her hands while I munch on the dry crackers and sip at the water. I'm shaking less. Could she really be just what she says she is? Only – she hasn't really told me much about herself… just that she's a nurse. That she gives a shit. That she made it through three years of medical school. "Where'd you go to school?"

"Does that brain of yours ever slow down?" she asks – she's come to stand near me again. Her cologne washes over me.

"Not really." I put the plate down – I'm sure if I hand it to her, she'll only have to wash her hands again.

"Colombia," she answers my question.

"New York?"

"Hmm," is all she really says. "Ready?" she asks, touching my other leg gently.

Still one more wound to go... "Are you sure we can't renegotiate that tequila?"

"I am entirely positive. But you can have a cig after I get this done."

"You're one tough negotiator."

She chuckles… After she's done cleaning and bandaging the other leg (it really wasn't so bad), I'm almost positive I hear her light up two cigarettes. Yeah, if I had to put up with me for an hour or two (how long _has_ it been, I wonder), I'd need a smoke too… maybe that's why I can't seem to go more than half an hour without craving nicotine...

After I finish my smoke, she helps me down, and I count twenty eight unsteady steps to the bedroom – and I don't know if the exhaustion is physical, mental or emotional, but I know that I'm asleep by the time my head hits the pillow…

-------------------------------------------

brief note: I'm not a nurse - and given the courseness of this, I wasn't going to runit by my mother in law who is... my knowledge of cauterizing wounds comes from Robert Adams _Horseclans _books... so in other words, if I have truly made a mockery of medical science, I apologize...


	5. Puerko Pibil and a Tequila with Lime

Midnightmuse:

Thank you, thank you! Sands' head is an interesting playground… I'm glad you're finding Beth distinctive - my biggest concern in writing in the first person is always the development of characters around the one whose head I'm in (although Sands' personality makes this a little easier, since he's always trying to figure other people out.)

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Chapter Four:

_Puerko Pibil and a Tequila with Lime_

Waking up, I become aware of several things all at once.

**1** - There's a burning, throbbing pain where my eyes used to be – it pounds all through my skull

**2 **- and possibly more disconcerting – I'm not alone in the room _and_,

**3** - I don't smell Beth's cologne. I don't smell my own stench either. I _should_ be pretty ripe – because even though I have no idea how long I've been out, I wasn't so sweet smelling to begin with, despite Beth's best efforts to clean me up.

I lie very stilland try to figure out what's gone wrong. This time.

The house is quiet – mostly. Off in the distance – the direction of the kitchen, I think – I hear soft music playing. It's nothing I can identify… something about it seems familiar, like a half remembered memory from a dream… fuck. Drugs. It's gotta be the drugs hindering my ability to think straight.

Ok, so I'm pretty sure I'm in the same bed I fell asleep in. I hope. I mean – how would I know? I could be on the other side of the world for all I know…

And then I realize a fourth thing… I smell… puerko pibil? Interesting. And just as disconcerting as everything else in my world at just this very moment.

And – Christ, it just keeps getting better and better – a sudden twinge in my bladder lets me know that I have to piss like a race horse. Fucking fantastic. I have no choice but to make a decision about what to do next.

Stalling my bladder, I try to centre my attention on _this_ room. Whomever has been set to watch me is reading a book – I can hear the occasional turn of a page. I can't tell anything else, though. No telltale cologne or aftershave – no sounds other than quiet breathing and the occasional flip of a page. Large pages, I think – a magazine? I wish I knew what time of day it was… although pibil takes a good four or five hours to prepare – so at the very least it's reasonably safe to assume it's sometime after noon. My bladder kicks at me again. It isn't going to wait much longer.

Discarding better part of valor, I stir enough to let my warden know I'm awake and wait for a response.

Fabric rustles. And little feet dash from the room yelling for "Mama." The child's voice is female. Very interesting indeed…

As I sit up, I become aware of several more things. The first of which is just how damned sore my body is – it's like I've been run over by a Mack truck. I can ignore that.

I _can't_ ignore the fact that this bathrobe fits differently than the one I fell asleep in. It fits just exactly right… it's made of well worn, nicotine scented terrycloth. I feel along the collar and find the burn. It's my robe. My robe that I left locked in my suitcase that I left locked in my trunk that I left locked in my hotel room.

Oh – my – Christ -- cold fear grips at me. If someone found my bathrobe, they found everything…

I had a stash of guns that – while wouldn't have been enough to overthrow a country, certainly would make your average NRA member blush with envy. And cash. Just a few thousand pesos – and about a thousand U.S… along with wigs… theatre make up – just the bare necessities – but enough to raise an eyebrow, that's for fucking sure. I also had a bunch of IDs in my suit case, all with my picture, but in different names – there were at least two or three passports… Christ, this cannot be good. Even though I know she also had to have found my real ID, the glossy laminate that identifies me as an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency… this just cannot be good.

I recognize the sound of my angel's footsteps at the door – but I refrain from turning my head in her direction. I'm angry. No, I'm _furious_. But more than that – I'm scared. I don't like all these new feelings – fear, helplessness. Uncertainty. They're foreign emotions. I don't like trying to guess what someone is thinking when I can't even see their eyes.

She seems about as uncertain as I am – unless she's trying to be polite. I try to remember what was in my wallet. CIA ID – international driver's license – real name on both. A couple of credit cards with my name on them… condoms… My keys were in my pants pocket and it stands to reason that if she riffled through my wallet, she probably riffled through my pants first and found my keys… that feels a little more personal than having someone go through my wallet. Car keys, keys to apartments in Mexico City, Guadalajara and L.A. – Santa Fe P.O. box – another in Guadalajara – my hotel keys – key that doesn't work to Ajedrez's pad… too fucking small my ass… And of course the keys to my little trunk of goodies. Damn. Damn, damn, damn, damn. She's still not fucking saying anything. I think that's getting to me more than if she'd started in on me, demanding all kinds of impossible answers…This is more fucking awkward than if we'd screwed.

Finally, Nature wins out and I announce that I need to use the head.

Wordlessly, Beth helps me to my feet – as soon as I'm up, I shrug her off. She doesn't fight me.

And then a new thought occurs – I reach for my face. The bandage is still in place… but… no, something's wrong. It's wrapped differently. Neatly. Fuck.

"Do you remember the way?" Her voice is soft. Just as soft as I remember it – like velvet – or chocolate.

"Yeah," I lie. I don't have a fucking clue – but it has to be out the door – I find a hand on mine and try to pull away.

"Just let me get you pointed in the right direction," she tells me.

"Whatever."

Apparently there's a bathroom attached to the bedroom – or maybe it's the same bathroom with another door – it's hard to imagine that there's more than one bathroom in this house. Most Mexican houses are pretty bare bones. I find my way into the bathroom and close the door hard behind me – which leaves me faced with the problem of locating the head. _Well – honestly, Sands, how fucking hard can it be to locate a God damned toilet? _

"You ok in there?"

"I think I can find my own dick," I spit back at her. Yep, Johnny is right where I left him. And I manage not to trip over my own two feet and smack face first into the floor… not that additional damage would really make a difference… my hands grip the toilet – I lift the seat and do my damnedest to take aim. Oh, this is just peachy – for all I know I'm hitting the floor and women turn positively vile when you do that… well, it sounds like liquid hitting liquid, so I guess I'm safe.

I stumble back to the bed, resisting the assistance she silently offers. I wish I knew what it was that was bugging her – Hell, I wish I knew why the one thing that's bugging me the most is bugging me more than any of the things that should really be bugging me. _God damn it, Sands, you've lost it… _

I feel her sit on the bed next to me. "How are you feeling?"

"How _should _I be feeling, Darlin'? You went riffling through mycloths – riffling through mywallet – riffling through my riffles!" Although the words are a jest, my tone is anything but humourous. I sit so that my hair hangs over my face, not facing her at all.

There's an even longer silence than I would have expected from her.

"What – cat got your tongue?" My tone is still venomous.

"I didn't have to go through your things to realize you weren't a tourist who got caught in the crossfire, Sands." Her tone is – cold. Detached.

"Yeah – but you didn't know who I was, either."

"So what – now you have to kill me?" Beth's tone is dark.

"Don't be an ass."

"Look who's talking."

That gets me – it's a_ cold_ laugh, though. "You got anything for pain – I've got a bitch of a headache."

"Hang on," she says and gets up.

Yeah – where the fuck would I really go? Where have I _got _to go – of course Beth can't know that. She's gotta be wondering why a CIA officer is here instead of in a real hospital. Shit I wonder if she tried to call someone – but who would she call? Your average American citizen can only remember the number for emergency services because they shortened it to three digits. Most of 'em don't even know where their nearest FBI field office is – and those guys operate on American soil. _Ok – take a breath_ – _one thing at a time – and the first order of business is the God damned headache._

Beth finally returns; she presses two pills into my right hand and a glass of water into my left.

"Vicodin," she identifies the pills before I ask.

"Two aren't going to cut this."

"Well, two are all you're getting," he tone is quite final.

God damn it. Fine. I swallow them dry just to prove that I can. Yeah, I'm pissed. I'm pissed that I let my guard down. I'm pissed that I let myself be taken for a ride by a cheap piece of ass like Ajedrez. I'm pissed that Guarvera took my eyes – my dignity. But mostly I'm pissed because Beth looked at me when she _knew_ I didn't want her to. I'm pissed that she saw for herself the kind of freak Barillo and Guavera turned me into. I feel like some unspoken promise was broken. As if anyone's ever kept one single promise they've ever made… fuck me. I am such an idiot.

Oh yeah, and I'm pretty perturbed at her for going through my shit, too.

"Do you remember any of the last week?"

"Last week?"

"Today is the eight."

That grabs me by the short and curlies. She could be lying – but my brain keeps telling me that she's for real. Just some American do-gooder out to ease her conscious by helping the poor, the unwashed, the huddled masses of Mexico. I still can't imagine anyone living down here _voluntarily_. Fuck if I'd be here if I had a choice. I hate fucking Mexico…

Hazy half memories begin to poke their ugly little heads up through my ire – but it's like chasing after shadows in the dark… I remember being hot – burning hot – hellishly hot – probably fever. I think. I've never tried to remember something without the accompanying visuals before. Christ. "Tell me?" I ask in a tone that actually makes it sound like a request.

"You had a fever – you were in and out of delirium for six days."

"You put me in the tub," I say… it's fuzzy… but I remember sitting in a bath of cool water – she was sitting in it with me… I laid my head back against her shoulders drinking in her scent – she was so strong – so warm – she was fully clothed – but I wasn't. Shit. Why the fuck am I embarrassed by _that_? Lots of women have seen me naked – they've all liked what they've seen, too, I might add.

She chuckles.

"It's not funny!" I tell her, indignant.

"It wasn't at the time – your fever had spiked up to a hundred and three. But seeing you blush now is well worth it."

"I'm not blushing."

"Have it your way, Cowboy."

Damn her. I scoot back and lean up against the sturdy headboard of her bed - holding my head uprigth is just too much work - hopefully the vicodin will kick in soon and at least take some of the edge off - although I don't hold out much hope... I can remember laying in the water, now, clearly, leaning against her strength – her hands keep scooping cool water over me – over my chest and shoulders – she keeps a cool cloth on my forehead… and I mutter about her being an angel… she's singing – some tune I've never heard before – I think it's what I heard when I first woke up, though... After the bath, she brought me back to bed – the sheets had been changed, I remember how cool and clean they felt against my burning flesh – she laid me down – and curled up with me, pressing her body hard against mine to chase away the dreams… she held me all night long… all night… my night is going to be eternal.

"Chicken soup," I say suddenly, tilting my head back in her direction – I very distinctly remember eating chicken soup. How odd.

"My grandmother's recipe," she smiles – I can hear it in her voice. "You'd wake up once in a while – let me feed you – take you to the bathroom. But – you were never really lucid."

Crap. I know the shit I've got buried in the ol' cranium… "Did – uh – did I say much?" I ask her quietly. This could present a real problem – for both me _and _my pretty little angel... (Whom I realize may not be at all pretty – but let a guy have his fantasy, ok?)

She pauses for about a heartbeat before answering. "You said enough."

Those three words hang in the air between us for a bit. Finally, "Come on, Darlin', at least tell me if I spilled any international secrets," I joke. It's only half a joke.

"I wouldn't know an international secret if it was handed to in an envelope labeled Top Secret," she tells me.

And I believe her – not because I think her naïve… well, maybe I do…

"Mostly you talked about personal stuff – or stuff I'm pretty sure is personal."

Fuck. Not only does she have my ID – but she's got the skivy on my personal life… do I even have a personal life? Fuck me – that's a good question. "Give me a clue?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about, Sands. Most of it was stuff – just don't worry about it."

"Would you _please_ tell me what it is you're trying so hard not to say?" I'm starting to get really pissed by her evasive maneuvers. No one should try to out fox the guy who taught the fox.

"Dinner's almost ready," she stands.

Frustrated – fucking furious is more like it – I reach out and snag her arm – I must have caught her off guard – she falls… right into my lap. I realize how tight my grip is and ease up a little – I only meant to get her back here, not put a hurtin' on her. Her body is ridged against mine, even as I ease up on my hold. She doesn't move or speak, but I can hear her breathing – her quickening heat beat. Even without eyes, I know she's scared. Hell, anyone with the sense God gave a goose is scared of me… but I still have these memories of cool water and her voice whispering softly that I'm going to get through this, that I'm stronger than I think… I seem to remember her promising that she wouldn't leave me alone in the dark – and I wonder if I voiced that fear or if she's just a good guesser… "I won't hurt you," I tell her in a tone I hope is convincing. "If nothing else, I owe you my life." Oh well, so much for that membership to the Asshole's Guild. Wonder if the Dumb Asses will have me… at this rate I'm going to have a really great resume to show them.

"You have absolutely no reason to trust me," she says, sitting up a little in my lap, but not really pulling away. "If I tell you I won't repeat anything you said, you can't know I'm telling you the truth. But even before I saw what you had stashed in that trunk of yours, I knew you weren't just some tourist, ok? Hermano told me about the gunfight and the cartel – but – just looking at you – you're much more than you appear to be, Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. And a whole lot less."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't let people in because you're afraid. I can relate. Now can we just drop it?"

"One more thing –"

"No one saw your stash of firearms but me."

That makes me feel a little bit better. But it's not the biggest question on my mind – it should be… but it isn't. "What about – my face?"

"Just me."

I nod. I don't have any reason to trust her – but I don't really have any reason to distrust her either. Except that everyone screws me over eventually.

"Sands – I want you to listen to me – I mean_ really_ listen to me," she says then – and out of the blue, her voice has taken on this – strength. My little angel has gone all Archangel on me, flaming sword and everything…

"I'm listening," I tell her.

"There is a difference between pity and caring – even when it's caring too much. There's a difference between sympathy and giving a shit. I care. I give a shit. And I'm not the least bit afraid of what I see when I look at you without the bandages. I've seen scarier things in my life than your face."

I swallow hard – but she's not done.

"I won't try to tell you that I understand – or that _everything_ is going to be all right – because even though you have no reason to believe it when I say this, I don't lie. I don't always tell the whole truth – but I don't lie."

Call me a stupid fucking bastard… "You said my _face_ doesn't scare you. _Do I?"_

"Do you _want_ to?"

"Don't answer a question with a question!" I squeeze her wrist hard.

I feel her tense up – for a second, I think she's going to take a swing at me – then she counts to ten, just under her breath. When she addresses me again, her voice is ice. "Let me go. Now." There's something very dangerous in that voice… something that scares even me… because there is nothing more dangerous in all this world than a wounded animal… except maybe an animal protecting her young…

I let go immediately, because let me tell you, Greta Sands didn't raise a fool for a son, no matter what you might think of me.

"If you ever touch me like that again, Cowboy, it'll be the last thing you ever do." I feel her get up off the bed – she doesn't really step away from me – but I'm pretty sure she's thinking how much she hates my sorry ass right about now.

And of course, the proverbial light bulb has gone one in my brain. I would have seen it earlier if – well, fuck, if I could see anything at all.Beth is a wounded animal. A mother protecting her young. "So who was he?" I ask in a very casual tone.

I'm pleased by the startled intake of air on her part. And I can feel her icy glare settle on me. "No one," she answers after a heartbeat – so – whoever he was, the nerve's still raw.

And I know I haven't lost my touch. I smile, just a little. It's probably not a very nice smile. "Hey," I say as I hear her start to leave me. "You sorry?"

"About?"

"Being so nice to a prick like me."

I hear her start to answer. Then catch herself. "No. Even if you want me to be – I am who I am, Cowboy. I'll bring some dinner to you in few minutes."

I'm angry again, but I bite back my comments about not being allowed to dine with the family. It won't do me any good to push her too far – I still happen to need her. And it grates on me - but pissed or not, the truth is that a fuck of a lot has to have happened in the last six days. I have to find out what went down on the Day of the Dead, who's gone to lie with their ancestors and who's still standing. So, I smile a smile that I know women find charming and ask, "One more question, Darlin' – how did you know pibil was my favourite?" My tone is as sweet as my smile.

"I'm psychic," she teases – although her tone is cold.

But I laugh anyway. I must really have talked up a storm in my sleep… fuck. "Hey – how about a smoke?" I ask her before she has a chance to fully retreat.

"Check on the nightstand – to your left," she tells me – and leaves the room.

I snort quietly to myself. Then feel to my left – nightstand – cigarettes! There's a lighter sitting right next to them – and an ashtray. I get a smoke lit with only nominal difficulty and place the ashtray carefully in my lap as I lean back against the headboard enjoying the sweet flavour of my favourite brand of nicotine. Some of the sharpness even seems to come off my headache…

I'm about half way through my second smoke when I hear small footsteps approaching. They stop just at the door. She sent her kid to bring me dinner? Fuck – no one with any sense would trust their kid with a guy like me – oh piss off, not like _that_ – Christ! I just mean that a guy with a trunk full of guns and disguises, who swears like a sailor, smokes like a chimney and drinks like a fish isn't the best possible influence, ok?

I park the cigarette carefully on the ashtray and manage a smile. I can be charming when I want to. "Hello."

"Hello." She has her mother's voice.

"How old are you?" I ask. Oh God, please do not let her just hold up her fingers…

"Siete."

Seven. "I've got a daughter," I say – establish common ground. Yeah, I seem to remember some psych prof saying something like that – when you're dealing with kids, it's important to establish common ground. And if I want to use the mother without her hating me – betraying me for no other reason than she does hate me – I'd better make nice with the kid. "She's a little bit older than you, though." Christ – Emma would be – almost fifteen? Damn, I'm getting old.

Silence.

She's a real talker this one. "So – does your Mom know you're in here talking to me?"

"Uh-uh."

Hmm – ok, that _sounded_ like a 'no'. And you wonder why I hate kids? "Didn't she ever tell you not to talk to strangers?" I ask.

"Uh-huh."

Christ. "What's your name?"

"Cicily."

Different. "I'm Jeff," I tell the child. The only people who call me Sheldon are me and - well, Alison is the only family I have left.

"Mama said your name was Senor Sands."

"Well – that is my name. Jeff Sands." Christ. This is pointless. I take a quick drag of my cigarette.

"Mama says – "

Harried footsteps in the hall stop Cicily mid sentence – I imagine her turning around to see her mother trotting anxiously towards her. I smile up at Beth. "Your daughter is charming."

"Sorry – she – gets curious. And she hasn't set the table like I asked her to," that last is obviously directed at the child, not me.

"I wanted to ask Mr. Sands if he was coming, too. He's awake."

"He's still very tired," Beth explains in that quiet, stern tone that only mothers seem to truly be able to master. "I'm going to bring his dinner to him."

"I think he should eat with us."

"It's ok," I interject, "I think your Mom's right. I should rest." Resting is the last thing I want to do – but suddenly the notion of just sitting alone and eating in the dark is more pleasant than trying to sustain conversation with a curious kid who doesn't seem to like to talk.

"Come on," Beth says – I hear her close the bedroom door behind them. I finish my cigarette… I don't have long to wait before Beth reappears – I hear her footsteps before she knocks.

"I'm decent," I tell her.

The door swings open, "I doubt that very much."

I favour her with half a smile and sit up a little. "Smells delish," I say of the pork – the closer she gets, the more I can smell it – and it really does smell fucking amazing. I hadn't quite realized how hungry I was until now.

Gingerly, she straddles the tray over my legs. "Fork to your left, knife to the right," she says. "Food dead centre." Her directions are efficient enough that I think she must have some experience working with blind people…

"You trust me with a knife – I'm flattered," I tell her sarcastically. "But – no tequila?" if she knows pibil is my fave, she has to know I always have it with a tequila and lime.

"Nine o'clock."

I frown – but feel to the nine position – my hand settles on a glass. It's not big – but – I just know what's in it… "You are an angel, Beth," I tell her quite sincerely.

"So you keep saying."

I take a sip of the tequila – there's even a wedge of lime in it. And damn – it's good tequila, not the cheap crap they serve in most of the dives I've been to. I savour the potent nutty-sweet-grassy flavour of my (second)favourite liquor and the tang of the lime, feeling my tongue go delightfully numb – and then I swallow. It goes down like silk. "That is good shit," I tell her. (Rum is actually my favourite - but you cannot get good rum around these parts. Well - technically, rum is my _second _favourite and tequila is my third favourite – but my _favourite _favourite is almost impossible to procure outside Europe – and my sorry ass hasn't seen civilization in three long years. But I digress…) I raise the glass to her before taking a second sip and putting it back down. It's something I want to savour.

"I'm so glad you approve," she replies with mild sarcasm. "Although I feel it's only fair to warn you, I've never made pibil before – Hermano's aunt gave me the recipe."

She – cooked… for me? No way. No one goes out of their way for _me_… my brain honestly does not know how to wrap itself around that concept. So I shrug it off. But I suppose I should at least givethe pibil a try and let her know how she did…

Feeling a little awkward (I've never tried to eat something I couldn't see), I pick up the fork… and try to find the pork in the dark… fork goes in – and I manage to find my mouth on the first try. "Oh damn," the meat melts in my mouth…sweet – tangy – a hint of tequila… damn… she's good. "This has got to be the best –" Oops. I really didn't quite mean that that way. Guess I'm trying to hang onto that membership in the Asshole's Guild after all… because I am very sure she knows about my – obsession for balance. I clear my throat. "It's good," I manage to say in a more neutral tone.

"I'm glad you like it," her tone is – hmmm – let's just say I really must have talked up a storm in my sleep. I hear her begin to leave.

"Beth – I – really did mean what I said."

"Can you narrow the field, a little Cowboy?"

Is that a hint of fear I hear in her voice? I really don't know. "About owing you," I tell her. I only hope that's enough to keep her from screwing me over.

"You don't owe me anything." Her tone is cool.

I keep my expression carefully schooled. Ilistento her retreating footsteps. Then I down the tequila in one gulp and lean my head up against the backboard. I don't owe her anything… I can only think of one meaning for those words... I don't owe her because she's _already_ screwed me over.

_You blew it,_ my brain tells me. _You've burned your bridges – pissed off everyone around you – and now it's time to pay up. _The only question is who will I have to pay – and how much is it really going to cost…

And I'm just not hungry any more.

I sit for many long moments with various unpleasant scenarios going through my head, until I realize that I really will snap if I just sit here and fucking brood.

So, I lift the tray carefully off my lap and set it aside – then slide out of the bed… if I have any luck left at all, Beth has left my trunk in this room somewhere…even if it isn't - I have to do something more productive than sit and brood.

I take a few tentative steps – and then a few more – I stumble on something – a chair? Yeah – chair. A rocking chair. I give it a little push – it's made of smoothly polished wood – kinda reminds me of something you might find in a grandmother's house… there's a table next to it. A lamp. I feel around on the table – knitting? I make a mental note of that – knitting needles can be deadly if used correctly.

My mind begins to form a map of the room. Next to the table with the knitting needles there's more wall… then… dresser. On it are all manner of feminine items. A tray holds a brush and comb – and a hand mirror, I think it is – perfume bottle – ornate glass – maybe three or four ounce-size. I give an experimental sniff – yup, that's her stuff. The intoxicating scent makes me smile despite my trepidation. And perfume is flamable.

I feel a few papers – a book – some fabric – silk. Real silk. It smells like her…a nighty? Yeah, probably… wonder what colour it is… is Beth into pink or red – black or white? Or is it something off the wall – like green. I wish I knew what she looked like… I wish I knew what she was planning to do with me… I hate fucking uncertainty.

Then my foot collides with something – something familiar. My trunk. My wonderful beat up old black trunk.

Kneeling, I run my hands over it… I'm reassured by it's presence, by the familiar smoky, musky smell and the rough texture. Even without my eyes, I can trace my fingers over all the stickers and know which is which – you the kind of stickers tourists get when they go somewhere – everywhere I go I get something and stick it on. Some of these have been here for fifteen years. I try the lid. Locked. Damn.

But – the key has to be somewhere – I go back to the wall and make my way back to the bed. There are tables on both sides – on the left, water and cigarettes. And on the right… bingo. Wallet. Keys.

This time, I take the bolder route and walk across the centre of the room – I stumble over a trunk at the foot of the bed – my mind conjures up images of a hope chest, something filled with photos and other mementos of a girl's childhood. Beth's photos are definitely safe from me…

At my trunk, I kneel again (this does hurt – but ignoring the little discomforts is easier when I've got something else to think about). Finding the right key is a lot harder than you'd think – but after four tries, I get the right one into the hole.

Inside, everything is as I left it – except for my suitcase. I wonder where she's stashed that – but all it has in it is my cloths. What I want is in the trunk.

A dozen guns of various shape and size… Styr GB, Glock-18, a couple of Brownings, a pair of Sig-Sauers (a 250, and a Sig-Pro), a Jerico, a couple of Mausers, three Makarov PMs … I let my hands linger over each one, just long enough to assure myself that they're all still there. Still loaded. Still ready to go. But none of those are the one I want. I want my favourite. My baby. My special girl, a Beretta 92S. She's an older gun – they don't even make them any more… but she's seen me through more than one tough spot. And she is right where I left her. Sleek and black – fifteen rounds in each clip. I flip off the safety – and then flip it back on again. Just warping my hand around her, I feel better already.

So with the Beretta tucked safely under my pillow, I lean back up against the headboard and pick at the pibil…

now picture the scene  
it's downtown after the show  
I'm looking around  
but there's no-one I'd like to know  
then I see her  
yeah I think those looks would kill  
maybe she won't  
but then again maybe she will  
I'm trigger happy  
just thinking that she'd blow me away  
trigger happy  
I'm trigger happy  
but she won't even look my way  
trigger happy  
my mind is moving  
as the music is swinging her hips  
my body quivers  
when her tongue caresses her lips  
I'm easy prey  
yeah I know that I'm looking scared  
she starts to smile  
cos it looks like I'm nearly snared  
she's trigger happy  
but she knows it could go either way  
trigger happy  
she's trigger happy  
cos it looks like we're both gonna stay  
ah yeah she's looking at me  
pointing a gun kind of nervously  
on my back  
from a fatal attack  
through the heart  
and that's just the start  
loaded chamber, silver bullets gleaming  
check out the beat, you be feeling  
trigger happy

Nitzer Ebb


	6. Angels and Demons

Chapter Five:

_Angels and Demons _

I got a boner for Holly Dawson the very first time I saw her. It was the beginning of my last year at Virginia State – I was working on a Masters of Political Science. Yeah, probably not what you'd expected, is it? Ha – I'm just full of surprises.

So – there I was (I remember that day almost painfully clearly) sitting by myself in this overgrown garden just behind the library – it was the perfect place to go to be alone. No one really bothered about it – sometimes I think they forgot it existed. So I was a little surprised when the door opened and out walked the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Tall, blond – and those eyes! Christ on the cross, those big blue eyes… and legs that went all the way up to her neck…

She was wearing faded bell bottoms and this gauzy white shirt, with little pink and red flowers embroidered around the hem – she had a short pink and purple poncho on over top of it and she was carrying a battered denim purse over one shoulder. A smile flickered across her lips… and I think for a full minute I forgot to how breathe.

She was new to the school and lost and wondered if I could direct her to the art building… I walked here there – one thing about being an outsider, I did a lot of wandering around aimlessly and pretty soon I know where everything was as well as all the best short cuts. Not that I ever expected such useless information to be so – well, useful.

Now, I wasn't always the suave and charming man I am today. Once upon a time, I was actually a little awkward around members of the opposite sex – I wasn't a virgin when I met Holly – Christ, I don't want you to come away with _that_ idea. I just wasn't good at actually _talking_ to women. Wham, bam, thank you Ma'am (always mind your pleases and thank yous, boys and girls) – and I'll call you next week sometime… and sometimes I did and sometimes I didn't, it all sorta depended on how the aftermath of whamming and bamming had gone… I've always hated those awkward morning after moments.

But when I saw Holly – my Christ, she rocked my world. By the time we arrived at the art building, I knew her name and her major and that she'd spent the last five years in France (think I dazzled her with some French, but I can't be sure, maybe she was just being polite when she smiled.) I was convinced she was out of my league. I was probably right. But back then, I wasn't going to let something as trivial as that stop me from at least finding out more about her.

And even back then, I was a sneaky little shit. That thing I pulled with my father – I did that long before I was a full-fledged officer working for the Central Intelligence Agency.

So after getting a hold of Holly's class schedule and home address, I just made sure that I was in just the right place at the right time to run into her a few more times – but I really didn't know what to say besides 'hello.' Then she'd smile and I'd forget how to breathe.

Nine months after that morning in the courtyard, I finally got up the nerve to actually ask her out – and I couldn't believe it when she said yes. I never have known for sure what she saw in me – after it ended – let's just say it wasn't exactly the right time to ask. The little contact we've had since then – well – yeah, I'm pretty sure she hates me… but I've never regretted that summer we spent together, even if I do regret what came after it…

I remember every stupid little detail about Holly Dawson. Her shy, sweet smile. Every mole and every freckle – they're etched in my memory along with her silk-soft hair and those beautiful eyes – eyes that smiled. Eyes that looked at the world around her with this sort of sweet innocence. She smelled like freesia – it's her favourite scent – her favourite flower. Whenever my mind conjures up the image of Holly, it's always accompanied by the scent of freesias. I'd never ever heard of a God damned freesia until I met Holly. She's the only woman (besides my mother and sister) that I ever said 'I love you too' – and when I said it, she was sound asleep… but I didn't mean it any less, just because she couldn't hear me. It was just that even then I knew it would never last. Dreams never do – morning comes and you wake up.

I woke up the day she left me. The day she asked me not to go to Langley. The day she asked me not to take a job with CIA. The last day of that summer by the lake. The last time I was ever truly happy.

A gentle tap on the door brings me back to the present – back to Mexico. Back to the darkness… back to my life.

"I see you've been up," Beth says from the door.

"Every Doc I've ever been to says getting up and walking around speeds the recovery process," I reply in a chipper tone. I'd hoped she wouldn't notice – but it's hard to put everything back just the way you found it when you can't see how things were arranged to begin with.

"You've hardly eaten," she says.

Her tone is – too neutral. Tension creeps across my shoulders and down my arms. Was it poisoned – or a last meal before someone breaks down the door to take me away? "Not hungry." I reply nonchalantly. I slide one hand behind my head, the other rests on the Beretta under the covers – it's pointed at the door. At her. Or anyone else who comes through.

"You've subsisted on nothing but chicken soup and crackers for six days – you're hungry."

I shrug.

After a moment, she approaches on what seem to be hesitant feet, stopping just at the foot of the bed. She seems to be looking me over – at least that's what I imagine she's doing. Looking me over and trying to make up her mind about something…

"So how bad is it?" I ask at last. I really hate all this fucking uncertainty.

"Your wounds seem to be on the mend – the fever abated yesterday. All things considered, I'd say you're doing pretty well – I'm just a little concerned about the lack of apatite –."

"Come on, Beth – you're not a stupid woman. You know what I'm asking." Who've you ratted me out to? Who's waiting outside your front door to haul me away?

She sits on the edge of the bed, just out of my reach. "I don't know what happened on the Day of the Dead, Sands. I know there was an attempted coup – "

"Attempted? Marquez –?"

"Dead. Along with most of his men – or at least that's what the guy on the news is saying."

With the hand not holding the gun, I reach for the pack of cigarettes and lighter – I notice she doesn't even try to help. No matter – I'm getting better at this. I can light a cigarette one handed _and_ blind – how about that for my resume? "And – the president?" I inquire, after getting the cig lit.

"Back in Mexico City."

Guess if you want a job done right, you really do have to do it yourself… El Mariachi was supposed to kill Marquez,_ after_ Marquez killed the presidente… no wonder things went to Hell in a hand basket. _Shit, fuck, damn and Hell…_ First Cucuy, then Ajedrez – then that fucking Mariachi… not to mention Collins or Suarez or someone else I've pissed off back home…

"Have you heard one word I've said?"

"Just the important stuff, Sugar Butt." I take a long drag off my smoke. "So how about it – how bad is it?" I ask her again.

"Sands –"

I wave aside what sounds like an apology – or an excuse – I even manage to smile while I'm doing it. "Come on, I'm a big boy, I can take it. I knew my shit was going to catch up to me sooner or later. So – what – cartel put a price on my head? Maybe your friend El's gotta be pissed at me – Hell, maybe the ANF wants a few words with me. I get it – no apologies necessary, Sugar. I'm just asking for some kind of heads up here." And I suck on the cigarette a little harder than I'd planned to – to make up for it, I make a smoke ring. Or at least – I think I do. I used to be able to do those…

"No one knows you're here but me, Cicily, Hermano, and his cousin Ramon – that's who I sent with Hermano to collect your belongings from the hotel. I sent Ramon because I knew he wouldn't say anything to anyone, no matter _what_ they found."

I want to believe her. In fact, I'm desperate to believe her. But why should I believe her?

"Is there anyone you want me to contact?" she asks me. "Hermano tells me you spoke to a man before coming here –"

I just shake my head – Ramirez did his part – I'm done with him. But I still need Beth – if I can just figure her out. No one helps someone out of the goodness of their heart – you especially don't help out an asshole like me without getting something in return. "So – what – what do I owe you know for services – " Christ – 'for services rendered', am I _trying_ to piss her off? "For the fine medical treatment and gracious hospitality of La Hospital de Beth."

"On the house."

"Come on – you have to want _something,_" my voice is soft and charming. If she hasn't sold me out already – maybe I can buy just enough loyalty to come out of this mess alive. If I can just figure out her angle – maybe she has a thing against the cartels? That would be useful – I'm not used to operating in the dark… ha-ha. Go ahead, laugh, I knew it was a funny before I said it. She's quiet, so I go on, "It may not look like it from my stash – but I've got resources – and – I'm good at – you know, dealing with sore spots," I put a little malice in my voice – in my smile – and tilt my head just to one side. Sure I'll kill whoever hurt her – or get someone else to do it. There are still people in this world who owe me favours. I can have somebody made dead – or hurt. Whatever, I'm flexible. If it'll get me what I need, I'll do just about anything. "So – you know – if there's something you need – or want – I could be just the guy to take care of it for you," I throw in for good measure. I doubt she's stupid – but I want her to understand the proposition fully.

I hear nothing but the beating of my own heart for about thirty seconds. Then she answers me…

"You really don't get that there are decent people in this world, do you, Sands?"

And _that_ is the first time I hear something that sounds like pity in her sweet voice. It throws me completely off guard. Everything about this woman throws me off guard. She's afraid of me one minute – rebuking me the next – then laughing with me – then getting into the tub with me – and taking care of me. Then she's cold and impossible to read… ok, that last was probably my fault. I pushed her pretty hard, maybe harder than I should have. And now, after all this – _now_ she feels sorry for me? Christ. "Sure I get that," I tell her defensively. "I'm just not the kind of guy decent people associate with."

"If you at least put the safety back on that gun you've had trained on me since I walked into the room, I'll make the effort to prove you wrong."

I feel my jaw slack, just a little. "I give up," I tell her, pulling the gun into plain view. I contemplate pointing it at my own skull. "You've got me – I give up. If this is a game, it's better than anything I've ever engineered – I give up." I flip the safety back on and set the gun on the nightstand – then I light up another cigarette. I do – I give up. Whoever she is, she has me.

I feel her take the tray off my lap and remove it from the bed. "Mind if I have one of those?" She asks.

What the fuck, why not? I even light it for her, before handing it over.

She takes the cig from my fingers and then sits down next to me – her butt is right up against my left hip. I listen to her inhale – and exhale. "Not everyone in this world wants something," she says at last. "At least not the sort of something you supply."

"But everyone does want something."

"Yeah," she agrees, almost reluctantly.

"So – how about it – what _do_ you want?"

Silence.

The silence scares me just a little – I can't see her eyes – I can't read her body language – I can't even begin to guess what she's thinking. "You _really_ haven't told anyone about my being here?" I ask, wondering if I'll be able to believe her if she says she hasn't.

"Why would I?"

"Money. I'm sure I've pissed off at least one person willing to pay for my head on a platter."

"Of that I have no doubt," she's smiling. I can hear it in her voice.

"Then there's always revenge." I really do know I've been a bit of a prick.

"Why should I try to get even with you for being an asshole. It's apparently just who you are."

I snort. "So I'm told. But that doesn't change the fact that I _can_ pay you – cash or – whatever. I can take care of that problem of yours – because I know it's still a sore spot. I can make it go away – never come back. You'll never have to look over your shoulder again – never have to wonder if he's going to show up on your doorstep," I coax. I'm going out on a fucking limb here with my guesses… but with the way she acts – the way she's said the few things she's said, I honestly believe she just ran away from the creep who hurt her, probably with little more than the cloths on her back. Why the Hell else is she living down here? I know I'm right. I hope.

"A couple of years ago I might have given you the name of a man I'd like to see rotting in Hades. But – now it just doesn't seem worth it."

"Why not? Why have this one little problem hanging over your head – give me the name. I'll make it go away. We'll be square."

"We are square."

"Come on – just a name. You can tell me," I smile at her, that malicious little smile of mine.

"Would you drop it please?" There it is – that – amused – bemused – tone of hers. She has to know I'm serious…

"Come on – just satisfy a man's curiosity."

"I said enough, Sands."

"Well, if you ever change your mind –" I begin – I don't really want to push her too hard (especially since I'm not quite sure how hard _is _too hard.) I know _exactly_ how precarious my position is right now… and I don't like it.

"How's the headache?" Beth asks then.

"Throbbing – but not as bad as before. All things considered, I think I'll live." I hope.

I imagine she smiles, "Glad to hear it."

Is it even remotely possible that she hasn't ratted me out to someone…?

"I'd like to have a look at – your injuries – see how everything is healing," she says, carefully. Yeah, she's not the only person in this room with sore spots – mine are just a little bit more visible at the moment.

I take a last drag of my smoke and contemplate lighting up another – but I know that no amount of nicotine is going to make me feel any better. I don't want her looking at me – I don't want anyone looking at me. Call it vanity – or pride – or just plain stupidity – but – I just… I feel a sigh escape my lips. "You're the doc," I tell her. I she's already seen everything there is to see. She's looked into the holes that used to have eyes growing out of them… and – realistically – you have to see a wound to check it for infection. Even that doesn't make me feel any better about it. "But will you tell me one thing first?"

"Why am I helping your sorry ass?"

Damn it – she is freaky… "Yeah. I still might not believe you," But I want to… _Sheldon Sands you are a fucking idiot…_

"You – wouldn't believe the real answer – so just try to believe that I am who I am."

"Real answer?"

"Don't panic, Cowboy – the – deeper, maybe is a better way to say it – the deeper answer doesn't have anything to do with anything external. I don't work for anybody but myself – I don't even work out of a hospital, I'm just on good terms with some of the doctors at our local clinic. This – around you – this is it – this is all there is. Everything in this world that matters to me is right here in this house – and I only answer to my own conscience – and to God. And don't worry – I'm not going to go and get all religious on you," she adds with what I'm sure is a smile. "Faith is – a personal thing."

My brows knit – and it hurts, so I stop that. "I'm paranoid by nature," I finally admit to her. Somehow I doubt it's a great revelation.

"I know," she takes the ashtray from my hands and puts out her own cig – then she gets up and I hear her washing her hands in the bathroom.

"So what – you like to see me dancing on razor blades?" I ask when I hear her come back into the bedroom.

"You're the sadist, not me."

I smile – I can't help it. "Than how about answering something else?"

"No – I'm not afraid of you. Not the way you think I should be."

"Fuck me."

"Maybe."

If I had eyes, I'd blink. But I'm pretty sure it's a joke – I am not her type. Angels and demons do not make good bedfellows – I learned that one the hard way, a long time ago.

Beth comes back to the side of the bed, close to my face. Yeah, why not get the worst over with first – I sit up a little to make her job easier. I _am_ capable of being a good patient – I just don't make a habit of it.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I still have to clench my fists as I feel her begin unwrapping the bandages, "So?" I ask after a moment. "How bad is it?"

"You're aware of the extent of the damage," she tells me in a gentle, not-quit-clinical tone.

I can feel the warmth of her breath on my face – I hadn't quite realized how close she was until now. I swallow – only it's not fear. Exactly.

"But it's healing nicely. There was a mild infection the second day that I had to clean up – you ok with the details?"

"I'm a big boy," I tell her, my voice as soft as hers – damn is she close. And the truth is I'm not sure I'm ok with the details – but I want to know. I need to know.

Ever so tenderly, she touches the tissue around my eyes – I feel her reach for something from her pocket – and then I don't feel anything. My stomach turns a quick flip – she's probably got a pen light…

"Looking good," she murmurs softly. Then I feel her fingers again, "Iodex," she says of the ointment she's applying just around the edge of the sockets.

I don't know how she's doing this without hurling.

"I'd like to give the wound a little air before putting the bandage back on – if you're ok with that?"

"Guess it's moot," I say to her. "But – what about your daughter –?" Christ – I don't want a seven year old seeing this.

"After dinner I sent her over to Hermano's so we could talk. They live just a few houses down."

"Is that safe?" I find myself asking – I have no idea why I even care.

"We were lucky – this neighbourhood wasn't affected too badly by the fighting last week."

"Ah." I just nod. "So – how bad is it – really."

Beth sits down next to me again – her hand falls on my leg – it seems like an unconscious action. "Cosmetically – you probably have a pretty good idea what it looks like. The eyelids were – "

"In the way," I supply. See – there's just something about having a drill come at your eye – even if you know it's fucking futile, you can't help but shut your eyelids in the effort to keep it out.

"I don't honestly know enough about cosmetic surgery to know what could be done about the lids – but there have been some amazing breakthroughs with artificial optics the last few years – "

"But nothing will ever restore my sight," I say.

"No."

I knew when I saw the drill in Guevara's hand that it was one of those point of no return moments - but that doesn't make it any easier to hear out loud.

I feel her hand on my leg tighten a little, as if in comfort. I want to pull away – but there's something about her touch that makes that difficult. And she's right – there is a difference between pity and caring – even if it's caring about a prick like me – which makes no sense at all, but there it is. She does.

"With dark glasses, no one will ever know," Beth tells me gently. "The rest of your face is perfect," as if to emphasize the point, she brushes my cheek with the back of her hand.

I catch it in mine – I'm not ready to be touched, even in kindness. I hear a light gasp coming from her as my hand closes around hers– guess I startled her. I make a special effort to keep my grasp light. "Didn't mean to scare you," I say softly, hoping she'll believe me.

"You're right about that sore spot," she says – I feel her shaking, just a little. "Sometimes I'm still a little jumpy. I know it's stupid – I left him almost three years ago."

"Take it from an expert, Darlin' – some wounds take forever to heal." And there goes that lifetime membership to the Assholes' Guild. Nothing I do now will ever get me reinstated… "What do you look like, anyway?" I ask.

"See for yourself," she says – but when she says the word it's not at all unkind – she lifts my hand to her face.

"I've never done this," I tell her – and I feel very uncertain, of a lot of things. How in the Hell do you piece together a picture of someone by feeling around their face?

"Just try."

I let my fingers glide over the smooth skin of her face trying to make some sense of what I'm feeling. It isn't working – I can't make heads or tails of it…

"Tell me what you feel," she coaxes.

"High cheekbones. And a little nose – strong chin. High forehead," my fingers slide through her hair – it's not quite shoulder length – straight. Soft. Different lengths – a little shorter around her face – longer towards the back. "What colour?"

"Naturally or currently?"

A small smile begins to form on my lips. "Currently."

"Blond."

"What kind of blond?"

"Medium blond – I guess – with a little red in it."

"The colour of honey?"

"Yeah – I guess that's a good word to describe it."

I can picture the colour almost exactly, I think. According to Holly there is no such thing as 'just blond.' "And naturally?" I ask.

"Brown. But lighter than yours."

"And your eyes?"

"Green."

My smile deepens. I love green eyes. I let my fingers ease their way around her face some more, trying to put all the pieces together. Her mouth isn't big – but it isn't small – and I imagine that she must have a beautiful smile. Her lips are soft – bow shaped – I linger there maybe a little longer than is probably courteous – her chin is rounded – I run my fingers along her jaw line – and suddenly Beth is giggling and I can tell trying very hard not to squirm.

"Sorry – ticklish," she explains.

"Your _jaw_ is ticklish."

"What can I say – I'm weird."

"No arguments there, Sugar Butt," I run my fingers through her hair one last time as a picture of her forms in my mind. She isn't classically beautiful – I'm sure she looks nothing like Holly – or Ajedrez with her exotic beauty – but I get the feeling that my little angel is very pretty in her own quiet way. "Tell me one more time that you haven't ratted me out to anyone – because believe me, there are a lot of people who want me dead right now – and I don't even know who all of them are."

She holds my hand – and she tells me that she hasn't ratted me out to anyone. "There may be people in this world would could pull a couple of bullets out of a man's body – who could stay with him through six days of delirium and fever – and then turn right around and hand him over to someone who would kill him. I'm just not one of those people, Sands."

And more than anything in the world, I want to believe in her. I want to believe she hasn't ratted me out to the cartel – because even with Barillo dead, the cartel is probably only wounded. There are plenty of men to step up and take his place. They'll be in disarray for a while… but eventually they'll be back. I'm probably not worth as much to them as El… who's Christmas card list I'm probably not on either… and that is probably just the tip of the iceburg. I realize she's speaking again:

"I really can't tell you anything that will make you trust me. It's a leap you're going to have to make on your own."

"I – I guess if you really wanted to turn me over to someone – it would have been easier while I was out."

"Probably – and it would have saved me from having to deal with your oh so charming personality," while her words are biting, I can hear the smile in her voice.

"There is that," I smile back. I reach over and lay my hand on the gun – she's – just a little tense as I tuck it back behind my pillow. "I tend to sleep a little better this way," I explain.

I have the distinct feeling she's just shaking her head at me. "All right. I'd like to have a look at your stitches – and probably take them out."

"You're the doc."

I listen to her step out of the room for a few moments – when she returns, I hear small metal objects rattling around in a bag – she must really have a little black medical bag. She sets it down on the bed next to me. Long pause… "Um – robe?"

Oh. Right. Duh. I undo the belt of the robe and let it slide open – why exactly I feel suddenly body conscious I have no idea. The woman is a nurse – she's probably seen hundreds of naked guys in her life… although I wonder how many of those had no eyes… "So – you said you got through three years of medical school – what happened?" Mostly I just want something else to think about.

"It wasn't because of Neal."

"So it has a name," I manage a smile.

With very gentle hands, she draws back the robe, exposing more of me… fingertips graze over my wounds.

"I have absolutely no doubt, Officer Sands, that once you're up and back up to whatever it is you really do, you could find out his name if you really wanted to." There is no sharpness to her tone at all.

But the words slice through me just the same – back to what I do? I don't even know if… I don't know anything. I need to correct that, ASAP. "I don't suppose you've got a radio or something I could listen to?"

"I'll got one I can bring in when we're done," she tells me. "I'm assuming you've had stitches removed before?"

"Snip away, I'm fine," I tell her. Most modern medical facilities use dissolving stitches – or adhesive stitches – occasionally those freaky metal staples that make you look all Frankenstein's Monster – but I've spent most of my career in the kinds of places that aren't quite so modern.

She snips – I'm fine. It feels a little weird having thread pulled out of one's hide… but there are far worse things in this world. "So what happened – medical school?" I ask.

"Life."

"You're not being very fair you know – you know more about me than I do about you."

Her chuckle is soft and warm, "And it's probably driving you nuts."

"Just a little," I admit.

She finishes up, announcing to me that everything seems to be mending just fine, then comes back to sit on the bed, her butt pressed right up against my hip again. "Elsbeth Annabelle McKinny," she says. Her tone is neutral – but still – soft. "Thirty three years old. Born in Fayetteville, Alabama – we moved to Boston when I was twelve, but I'll always be a small town girl at heart. Averaged about a 2.7 grade point through high school – boredom," she explains. "After two years of community college I got accepted to Colombia and went off to New York. You ever been there?"

I smile – I haven't been in years… but yeah… "I'm more of a West Coast guy, though," I hear myself saying. Great. As if she doesn't know enough already.

I hear a soft chuckle, "I'm not surprised. But – if you know New York you know how – different it is, even from Boston."

"So what happened?"

"Give me your hand," she says.

I lift my left hand and she captures it easily – she guides it over and rests it on her arm.

"I don't know if you're going to be able to feel this," she says – then she runs my fingers over the insides of her arm.

I slide my fingers down her soft skin, trying to make out what it is I'm feeling. The scaring is barely raised. Long and vertical – right along the vein… "Why?"

"Stupid shit. I just all happened at once. My dad died – heart attack. He refused to take care of himself," her voice catches. Then she clears her throat. "I came back a couple of days early – I couldn't deal with the mourning relatives one second longer – and I was pretty pissed at him for dying on me. All things considered, I wish I'd stayed."

"Boyfriend in bed with another woman?" I hazard a guess.

"Fiancé. And with a teacher no less. He'd told me he couldn't fly to Boston with me because he had to study. Guess we had different ideas of 'studying' entailed."

"Damn." Even I think that's a little cold.

She sighs and pulls her arm back, gently. I imagine she's shrugging – or trying to come up with some kind of excuse for what she did – I just light up a couple of cigarettes and hand her one.

"Thanks."

"So – is Cicily that guy's – or this Neal's?"

I hear a sound that's probably a chuckle, "I can see why you must make a very good – is it politically correct to say spy?"

And I can't help it – I'm laughing – it hurts, just a little – that bullet wound in my side – but I don't care. She laughs with me – finally, when we've both settled down, I say, "Darlin' – just in case you hadn't picked up on it – I don't worry about politically correct. Although my actual jobdescription is covert intelligence. And you didn't answer my question."

I imagine her shaking her head, smiling, as she sighs. "Neal's. Six months after I moved back to Fayetteville Neal and I were married. We grew up together – I thought I knew him. Guess I made a mistake."

I hear – sadness. Hurting. He hurt more than her body. He hurt her spirit – she was already hurting – and he just tookthis wounded angel and hurt her more… Time to change the subject. For both our sakes. "When – when you put me in the tub – I remmeber you singing something – what was it?"

"Good memory, Cowboy," I hear the smile return to her voice.

"So?"

I almost think she's blushing – but she clears her throat and taps out a soft beat on her thigh…

The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you  
The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you.

On a dark new year's night  
On the west coast of Clare  
I hear your voice singing  
Your eyes danced the song  
Your hands played the tune  
T'was a vision before me.

We left the music behind and the dance carried on  
As we stole away to the seashore  
We smelt the brine, felt the wind in our hair

With sadness you paused.

Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go  
Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so  
Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time

And I wondered why.

As we cast our gaze on the tumbling sea  
A vision came o'er me  
Of thundering hooves and beating wings

In clouds above.

As you turned to go I heard you call my name.  
You were like a bird in a cage, spreading its  
Wings to fly  
"The old ways are lost" you sang as you flew

And I wondered why.

The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you  
The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you.  
The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you  
The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you.  
The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you  
The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you.

_And in the role of Beth ..._Elizabeth Banks (Sea Biscuit)

The song she sings at the end of the chapter is by Loreena McKennit


	7. Hallelujah

Thank you, thank you, to Midnightmuse and capt'n-jack's-bonnie-lass for taking the time to review! It's always good to know my work is beingenjoyed! ;)

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Chapter Six:

_Hallelujah_

As soon as I wake, I become aware of a small human body sitting in bed, next to me. Slowly, I reach under the pillow and ease the safety off the Beretta… "Cicily?" I ask, very, very cautiously… granted, I can't think of too many agencies that use pint sized assassins… but you never know.

"Si."

Recognizing her voice, I slid the safety back on. Someone needs to tell thiskid that sneaking into a cold blooded killer's bed is a career limiting move… "Does your mother know you're in here?" I ask, pulling myself carefully into a sitting position – I am wearing absolutely nothing under my bathrobe, for Christ's sake.

"No."

"Well do you think you should be in here then?" I ask.

"I wanted to be here in case you needed anything when you woke up. You slept all day."

"Well – I really don't need anything." Except a cigarette and a shot of tequila – but even I'm not going to ask a kid to fulfill either of those requests. Although if she'd just bugger off, I would reach for the cigarettes – not that I quite care about smoking in front of her, Surgeon General's warnings or not – but I seem to remember that some parents, even smokers, can be touchy about that. I'm in too precarious of a position… too fucking precarious… too many unknowns – too many uncertainties…

"There's left over pork, if you want some. I had some for dinner. I think it's my favourite too."

Charming. And… dinner? Did I literally sleep twenty-four hours? Well – I suppose that even though the fever's subsided, my body must be pretty exhausted. All things considered, I've been through Hell and back on this one. And if I've really been out that long, it would explain the pinched feeling in my bladder. "Maybe later," I say to the kid. "What time is it?"

"Nine o'clock. I brought you some flowers from Mama's garden. On the nightstand."

"How very thoughtful." I wonder if they're the same petunias I puked in. Wouldn't that just be ironic? "Where's your mother?"

"Want me to read to you?"

Great – another one who answers a question with a question… what is it with the women in this family?

"Mama says there's something wrong with your eyes," Cicily continues.

"Ah." Well, I suppose that was 'politically correct' of her. Still – I really don't like the idea of any little kid seeing what's become of my face – so perhaps politically correct is the way to go for a change. "And just where is your Mama?" I ask with growing irritation.

"Next door – with La Senora Rosa."

That stops my mild amusement/annoyance in it's tracks… "La Senora Rosa?"

"Si – it's Friday. Mama always visits her on Monday, Wednesday and Friday."

"Oh." Right. Ok. Sure. It's Friday. And I'm trying very hard not to panic. Just because there are people in this world – in this county – who want me dead… that's no reason to panic… I mean, why would Beth leave her child alone with me, if she was anywhere else but right next door…? If she was going to do something – like, I don't know, call the police or national guard – or the remnants of the Barillo cartel – she wouldn't leave her kid here with me while she did it… Why would anyone trust their kid alone with a guy like me anyway? I'm a menace. I have no illusions. "And she left you here – all by yourself?"

I feel a movement that I imagine might be a shrug. Great. But I don't think snapping at the kid is going to help. One must be gentle with children… I seem to remember someone saying something like that somewhere along the line… one of my old partners, I think… I used to have a partner – first one was killed in the line of duty – next one – I think he got dead too – next few just asked to be reassigned (my record was a rookie named Angela Sorrenson – I ditched her in three days). Eventually it go so the Company couldn't get anyone to work with me… so it would appear my plan worked quite well… except when I actually needed backup. The _one_ _time_ I ask for someone… and Collins fucking hangs up on me…

"Does your mother often leave you alone?" I ask Cicily.

"She's only next door – and I _am_ seven."

So is that a yes or a no, I wonder… probably a yes. But I don't imagine Beth as neglectful – so she really will be back any minute… thank God. I excuse myself to answer Nature's Call – I slide carefully out from under the covers and…

"Other direction," Cicily tells me.

"Hmm?"

"Bathroom – other way."

"Ah." I manage a smile. Terrific.

"I could guide you," she offers, helpfully.

Swell. I don't want help. I don't want help from a seven year old. I don't want a seven year old hanging around… I_ really_ don't want to think about falling so far that I'm forced to accept the aid of a child… and yet, I've already fallen so far I had to rely on a child's aid. I didn't think about it at the time – but now… damn. Is this really what the rest of my life is going to be like?

I manage to get to the bathroom and back without falling on my face. And surprise, surprise, the child is still on my bed.

"I speak three languages," she tells me eagerly, as I sit back down.

"You do, do you?" English, Spanish and what, I wonder… but to ask would be inviting further conversation…

"Uh-huh."

"Well that's – just swell." How the Hell does one converse a seven year old anyway? I try to remember how my mother spoke to me – but I don't really remember her ever saying much…

"Do you speak more than English?" the kid wants to know.

"I do."A creeping pain starts come over my head, beginning just between my… what used to be eyes… that's it, I must be allergic to children, they give me headaches… "So what have you brought to read to me?" Perhaps sitting and listening to her read would be easier on my nerves than trying to converse with the child. I have mentioned I don't like children, right?

"_Peter Pan_ – have you ever read it?"

"I have," I tell her – well, I suppose that the upside is that at least I won't be forced to endure some insipid tale like _Charlotte's Web_ – that was my sister's favourite book. She'd ask me to read it to her – and when we got to the end, she'd cry. For a week. And then ask me to read it to her again… women. They make no fucking sense... "But I would love to hear _Peter Pan_ again," I tell Cicily – partially I'm afraid of what else she might pull down from her bookshelf and partially because I honestly have always loved that story. (Surprised?)

"I like the Indians the best," she tells me, rearranging herself next to me. "But I'll bet you like the pirates."

Great – she's just like her mother there too – because I do indeed like the pirates the best. "How'd you know?"

"I'm a very good guesser."

_I am living la vida loca_, I tell myself sullenly… I lean my head back against the headboard and she begins to read – it's the original version (not a re-cap of any of the movies.) She's quite a good reader for seven… I think. I don't have much of a frame of reference… but her voice is clear, and she annunciates well. And... she definitely has her mother's voice.

Everything is going just fine… until the child rearranges herself again so that she's leaning against my arm. Instantly I tense up… I don't know what to do when a small child snuggles unnaturally close to me…

"I don't bite," she assures me, as she takes my arm and drapes it around her shoulders… which makes me_**very**_uncomfortable… kids don't like me, and I don't like kids.

"What if I bite?" I ask. It just comes out…

She giggles. I breathe again… because scaring the shit out Beth's kid is probably not going to go a very far towards endearing myself to her – and I still need her. Damn. I hate the sound of that, even in my own head. I'm not used to _needing_ anyone. But – at least for just right now – I do. Just right now, I try to tell myself… and I try to relax… and I wonder, fleetingly, what my life might have been if I'd made other choices… but even before I met Holly, I knew the road I was going to take… and it didn't involve white picket fences and a dog named Spot or even Nanna. It didn't involve children or PTA meetings or Boy Scouts… it involved guns and travel and not having to worry about the fact that I fucking hate people.

"Shall I continue?" Cicily inquires – she sounds so grown up when she says it that way, I can't quite help but smile.

"Sure," I tell her and try to get comfortable again…

I let my mind drift a little – I listen for the sounds in the rest of the house… but all seems quiet. And really – Beth won't leave her kid alone with _me _for long... no mother would.

We're about half way through the second chapter when we both hear the back door open and a small _ut-oh_ escapes Cicily's throat.

"Are you supposed to be in bed?" In inquire softly. Don't ask why I didn't think of that sooner...

"Uh-huh."

"What'll happen when your mother finds you in here?"

"She'll ground me forever."

I almost chuckle, "Forever huh?"

"Uh-huh."

Hmmm… I seem to remember a scam my sister and I used to play… "I'll go distract your Mom – you sneak into bed where you belong. Savvy?"

She giggles – it's a conspiratous giggle if ever I've heard one…

"But you can't get caught – then we'll _both_ be in trouble," I tell her. Well – rule number one has always been _don't get caught_… I suppose that applies to all manner of conspiracies, even if it's just getting a seven year old back to her bed without her mother noticing…

I slip out of bed and get Cicily to steer me in the direction of the bedroom door – I remember it's twenty eight steps to the kitchen – I'm on step number twenty when I hear Beth's voice.

"Sands?"

"Hey there," I try to smile. It isn't easy. Twenty God damned steps and my legs are ready to give out. But I feel the smooth stone floor of the hall give way to the tile of the kitchen. So it's only about twenty steps when my steps are more steady. I file that away…

"How long have you been up?"

"I woke up a few minutes ago," I tell her. "I heard you moving around and figured you must be out here somewhere," I shrug. "How long have I been out?"

"Since yesterday – it's almost ten o'clock at night," she sounds tired - drained. But not like she's lying – or hiding anything – or even particularly nervous. She doesn't sound like she's just come back from ratting me out to the late Armando Barillo's successors - or anyone else who might like my head on a pike.

"You ok, Sugar Butt?" I ask her.

"Just one of those days. I've had a few more patients than usual in the aftermath of last week – plus my regulars. And no – no one knows you're here," she adds.

I really do want to believe her… "You work out of your house?" I ask, feeling around for the chair.

"Left – yours," she directs me. "And yes. Although you're the first patient I've ever had stay."

"Guess I should feel honoured," I favour her with one of those charming little smiles – I find the chair and sit. Then, "I thought I heard the back door open when I woke up," I begin tentatively, wondering what she'll tell me… I mean – kids tend to be pretty honest, most of the time… so I can take it on a certain amount of faith that Beth was really at this neighbour's house – or at least that that's what she told Cicily… And I still can't quite believe that if she was going to rat me out, she'd leave her kid here while she did it. Beth doesn't strike me as stupid…

"I was next door – Lupe Rosa had a hip replaced six months ago – I help her with physical therapy three days a week. You hungry?"

It honestly doesn't sound like an attempt to change the subject… but I honestly didn't think Ajedrez was the kind of woman who would sit there while her fuck-buddy's eyes were drilled out either…

"A little hungry," And I realize I left my cigarettes in the other room… miraculously, a pack is set down in front of me. I smile my thanks.

"Left over pork ok?"

"You sure you want to take the chance?" It really is just a joke…

Beth laughs, "I have to figure that if I survived the initial taste test, I'm safe. And if you reach straight out, there's a candle on the table – keep your hand low," she warns.

I nod – it isn't hard to find. It's a little interesting getting the cigarette lit but… "So you're one of those chicks who digs candle light?" I inquire – I can hear her getting the leftovers out of the fridge – getting a pot down. It sounds like she has a pot rack just over the counter – just to my left… that would put it just to the right of the fridge, if I'm not mistaken. "Cold's fine," I tell her of the pibil.

"You sure?"

I just nod. I miss civilization… microwave ovens. Decent booze… the Rolling Stones… Arsenio Hall… Traci Lords… damn, it suddenly occurs to me that I'm going to have to cancel all my porn subscriptions… now, that, my friends, is a truly depressing thought …

And I wonder what they'll really do with me if I make it out of this alive… I'll never work in the field again… but what the Hell would I do as a civilian? What I told Ramirez is true – real agents don't retire – we just take it a little easier… but what can _I _do…? (I can just see the look on my sister's face as I show up on her doorstep after almost four years without a word… she might shoot me on principle alone…) Well… one thing at a time…

I hear the pot being hung back up and plate come down from the cupboard – it clinks softly against the ceramic tile.

Beth sets the plate down before me. "Fork's on the plate – bout four o'clock – and what's so wrong with 'chicks who dig candlelight'?" I'm sure I hear her smiling.

"Nothing, I suppose," I try to hide my own grin. I was right – she's one of those sappy types… I'll bet I was even right about that bathrobe of hers being pink… probably the nightgown is, too.

Beth sighs – she apparently knows I'm laughing at her. "I'm going to go take a shower – I assume you can stuff your face without a chaperone?"

I smirk up in the direction of her voice, "I'll manage – unless you'd like me to come in and wash your back?"

"Eat your pork, Cowboy. I won't be long."

I quite obviously bite my tongue on what I'm about to say – the gesture elicits a giggle from her – I decide it's a sound that I rather like…

I listen to her leave the room – the soft sound of her bare feet on the stone floor – I hear a door close – then the shower kicks on. I can almost imagine her shimmying out of her cloths, stepping into the warm running water… I decide to eat my pork before I need a shower. A cold one. (Hey, I'm still a man… not that any woman is ever going to… I really need a shot of tequila… but I strongly suspect that plundering blindly through Beth's kitchen could get me hurt… )

I finish my pibil – the shower is still running. It must really have been one of those days… well, ok, I am capable of being a considerate houseguest. Hell, I shot four men blind - surly washing one dish won't be that much of a challenge...

I have a rough idea where the sink is – I carry my plate to the counter - I'm only off by a couple of feet - everything else is easy enough to locate - wash rag over the faucet, dish soap on the back ledge...

I'm just setting my clean, rinsed plate into the dishdrainer, when Beth returns, smelling of vanilla and flowers. Yep, a girly girl.

"You didn't have to do that," she tells me.

I just shrug. I realize she's stopped barely two feet from me...

"It's a gorgeous night, Sands. I was going to sit up for a while on the veranda – you're welcome to join me."

My brain screams set up. It screams danger. It screams that even if I want to trust her, I know better... I just happen to need her. Fuck me. I don't _want_ to need anyone!

"Come on – the fresh air will do you good – I'll even crack open a bottle of wine if you're willing to trust that it isn't poisoned."

"Am I really that transparent?"

"Only to someone – sorry," her voice is pained.

She was about to say 'to someone with eyes'… I wave it aside. I know she didn't mean it. But it still hurts. God it hurts. "Wine sounds good."

"Red or white?"

I shrug, "Red." It's always been my favourite – and finding someone else who appreciates a good red wine is rare (and I do have to guess that if she buys good tequila, that her taste in wine must be equally good.)

I listen to Beth get the glasses down from a different cupboard – this one is on the other side of the room – a bottle slides out from – a wine rack, maybe? Silverware drawer opens (the distinctive clatter of silver is pretty hard to miss.)

"What kind of cork screw do you have?" I ask, feeling the sudden urge to be a gentleman – hey, I'm capable that too.

She presses something into my hand, "Ever use one of those?"

I smile – it's the good kind – not those cheesy things used by people without a clue – now I'm sure she has good wine. Of course doing this blind is going to be a little interesting… getting the knife out is easy – me, knives… I feel for the lip of the bottle and gently guide the sharp little knife around it – getting the corkscrew into the cork is actually pretty easy – even with eyes to see, it's really a job done by feel.Now, there's the matter of the injury to my left arm… but I manage to ignore it long enough to do the job. "Voila." I announce – and take a quick sniff of the cork. "Nummies."

She giggles again – I had the feeling 'nummies' coming out of my mouth might get that reaction.

"Merlot?" I ask.

"I'm impressed. Did you learn about wines at spy school?"

Now that gets a laugh out of me – "No, I'm just a lush," I tell her quite honestly… and for about ten seconds I feel… normal. It doesn't last… but it's a nice ten seconds.

I carry the bottle in one hand and rest the other on the elbow she crooks for me… My legs feel steadier than they did when I sat down – I think I was probably hungry… my heart beats just a little faster as we near the door… pots are just above and to my… left… pots make good weapons in a pinch. So do wine bottles.

"I don't suppose you'll believe me if I tell you you really can trust me," she says, very softly, as she nudges open the door.

"Sorry, Darlin' – just my nature," I reply smoothly; every available sense is strained to hear what's on the other side of her door… but there are, to the very best of my ability to perceive, no armed gunmen waiting to shoot me… I stand at the threshold for a moment longer – she seems content to wait while I satisfy myself that it's safe. She seems to understand… she seems to care. I don't get it.

The night is quiet – pleasant. Cool – but not uncomfortably so. Her garden smells like… jasmine, I think it is. Maybe orange blossom… maybe both. Something sweet, anyway – sweet and tangy. It reminds me a of the cologne she wears… I like the smell.

The fountain tinkles – it's not quite in the centre of the garden – it sounds – to the left. Bugs buzz – frogs chirp. It's almost hard to believe that this courtyard is in the same city I laid waste to a week ago…

"The courtyard is almost completely obscured from the street," Beth assure me… not that I'd have any way of knowing for sure. "No one can see onto my veranda. There's a chair is about two steps forward. Table'sjust to the right of it," she adds.

Awkwardly, I feel my way to the chair – it feels like its made wicker – I find the seat and manage to park my ass. I feel for the table she mentioned – and set the bottle down.

She pours the wine – hands me a glass – and I take an experimental sip.

"Is it nummies?" She asks - the giggle still seems to be in her voice.

"It is indeed," I smile in the direction of her voice.

I listen whileshe putters around some more – a lighter flicks – she's probably lighting candles…

In the distance I hear a few cars rattling down the main road – but Beth's street seems quiet – one of the out of the way places. Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.My impression is that she's here to get away from the life she left behind - which probably means she'd rather not be found.

And so far, she hasn't even tried to poison me… which may just mean that she's a masochist. Who else would willingly endure my company any longer than absolutely necessary?

"You warm enough?" She asks as she sits down in a chair next to mine.

I nod – the air is a little chilly, but I really don't mind… apparently my doctor does. Beth drapes a knitted blanket over my lap. "Your handiwork?" I ask, running my fingers over the stitches. My mother used to knit… a long, long time ago.

I think I hear the smile in her voice, "First one I made after we settled in here."

"What colour is it?"

"Red."

Red – I wouldn't have pegged Beth as someone who liked red (which just happens to be my favourite colour… bet you thought it was black, didn't you? No, black is just what I look good in.) "What kind of red?"

"I think they call it crimson – it's not bright red or maroon or burgundy – but it's not a browny-red, either."

I just nod. That sounds about like crimson - the useless informationone picks up living with an artist for two months... "I don't suppose you'd consider singing something," I ask after a moment.

The request seems to catch her off guard...it takes her a couple of heartbeats to answer... "Give me a second."

I listen – she stands – I fight back my fears… it's not an easy battle… too many betrayals… I hear her open the door… step back inside… I strain to hear – everything. Anything. _God damn it, Sands, you are a fucking idiot…_ the door opens again… but – it's just her. I'm sure it's just her… she sits down… at my feet? She sets something down – in front of her, I presume – it sounds – leather maybe? Then she straightens and rests her against the chair… between my legs… I swallow hard. "Didn't – uh – didn't your Mama ever tell you not to turn your back on a guy like me?" I manage to ask in a tone that's nearly conversational.

She chuckles, "Yeah, I think she might have said something like that once. I never paid her any mind."

I feel her shuffling around – and I sit absolutely still… flip – flip – metal… I hear a lid open… an instrument case? Or a riffle case. I force myself to assume the former (after all, sitting with your back to the target is a pretty piss poor way to shoot someone.) And I just don't know how to tell her how much I do _not_ want to hear guitar music right now… _be a good guest_, I tell myself…

Then I hear her strum her fingers experimentally over the strings… and that is_ no _guitar, ladies and gentlemen – in fact, I'm rather hard pressed to figure out what it is. My mother would not be happy – she made me take music lessons for seven years… I listen to her adjust the tuning... "What is that?" I finally just ask the question.

"Give me your hand," she says.

I really wish she'd just tell me – but I give her my hand – she rests it on the top of something – wood… it curves gently – it's a concave curve – I feel knobs – they attach to strings… she holds the thing up a little higher so I can get a better feel – another curve, this one convex – it's big – but not huge. "Harp?" I ask – who in Mexico plays a harp?

"Very good, Officer Sands," she says,and I'm sure she'ssmiling – Beth settles back against the chair, right between my legs and I can feel her tip the thing into her lap. "Of course I fear you're at the mercy of my repertoire – which is a little unusual."

I'm beginning to truly believe that _nothing _about this woman is at all usual…

I listen as she plucks out the first few notes… it's a song I know... only when she sings it, it's even more heartbreaking – more breathtaking – than I've ever heard it before… or maybe it's just the harp accompaniment… either way, her voice fills the night and I can scarsely breathe...

I've heard there was a secret chord  
That David played and it pleased the Lord  
But you don't really care for music, do you?

It goes like this...the fourth, the fifth  
The minor fall  
The major lift  
The baffled King composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof  
You saw her bathing on the roof  
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.

She tied you to a kitchen chair  
She broke your throne  
She cut your hair  
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe I have been here before  
I know this room, I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you.

I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
Love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

There was a time you let me know  
What's real and going on below  
But now you never show it to me, do you?

And remember when I moved in you  
The Holy Dark was moving too  
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe there's a God above  
And all I ever learned from love  
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you.

And it's not a cry you can hear at night  
it's not somebody who's seen the light  
it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

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**Hallelujah** - by Rufus Wainwright

_this song gets me every time I hear it... _


	8. Someone to Believe In

midnightmuse - I'll take all the "I love it" reviews you want to send me! I'm glad you liked Rufus Wainwright's _Hallelujah..._

quick29, Glamis Castle Rose and of course Captain-Jacks-Bonnie-Lass - **thank you, thank you, thank you!**

Your reviews and kind words really make my day! It is so good to know that this is being appreciated.

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Additional casting:

_Dan Collins_………………………………… Cole Hauser (Pitch Black, the Cave) - this one came to me when I saw a preview for the Cave on tv - Hauser played a prick so very well in Pitch Black.

_Rebecca Suarez_.. . . . . . . . ...Lumi Cavazos (Like Water from Chocolate, Bless the Child)

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_I still remember the world  
From the eyes of a child  
Slowly those feelings  
Were clouded by what I know now _

_Where has my heart gone  
An uneven trade for the real world  
I want to go back to  
Believing in everything and knowing nothing at all _

_I still remember the sun  
Always warm on my back  
Somehow it seems colder now _

_Where has my heart gone  
Trapped in the eyes of a stranger  
I want to go back to  
Believing in everything _

_Evanescence _

Chapter Seven

_Someone to Believe In_

Gasping for breath – I wake from the cold clutches of a nightmare with my heart pounding in my ears. I swallow hard – every time I wake, I expect it to be with a pistol pressed up against my head. Every time that doesn't happen, I'm surprised.

At least this time I know why I can't see. I remember waking up a couple of times in a panic because I couldn't see – only to remember ten seconds later that it's because I'm blind.

But no, I remember that this time. I think I know where I am. My cheek rests against a down-stuffed pillow that smells vaguely ofangels– and I grasp the cool reassuring steel of the Beretta tucked under it. There's a noise at the door – my fingers clutch the gun just a little tighter until a familiar voice announces herself. An angel's voice. I'm still cold and shaky as I release the gun and sit up. "What time is it?" I ask – my voice is hoarse.

"Three," she crosses the distance between us and sits herself down next to me – she's wearing her bathrobe. I have to assume that means it's three a.m...

You know what it's like when you close your eyes and you think it's dark – only then some asshole comes along flips on a light and you can see it through your eyelids… Well, it's that light is that tells you you're awake. When you don't have that light everything changes.

I go to sleep in the dark. I wake up in the dark. And in between dark and more dark, nightmares haunt my mind…and sometimes I'm not real sure what's really real.

I try to get a better grip on myself as Beth's hands brush the hair away from my bandaged face – her touch is soft. Gentle. She murmurs words of comfort...and for half a frightened second, I wonder if this is a dream and I really am huddled against a wall in some small, damp cell somewhere... if Beth isn't just some pleasant fantasy I've concocted to get me through while I figure a way out – or until my jailors get bored and kill me… It certainly wouldn't be the first time I've found myself in a slimy little cell somewhere...in sixteen years with the CIA, I've been in my fair share of unpleasant places.

It's all part of the job, I always tell myself – and it's not like I don't get to repay the favour now and again. Balance. It's all about balance. Give and take. I just kinda prefer it when I'm on the giving end – what's that old saying, tis better to give than to receive. Amen, brother.

Usually a week's vacation and some good hard liquor are all it takes to drive away the nightmares when I find myself on the receiving end of someone else's generosity… a week in the sun and I'm back in the saddle again… But this time it's different. I feel like… like something inside may finally have broken… a shattered glass sits on the kitchen floor of my mind…

Strong arms fold themselves around me, like protective angel's wings; somehow, they penetrate the ice and fog – this has to be a dream. No one cares enough about me to hold me when I'm afraid in the dark… I've made my bed. This was my choice – I had another choice – but this is what I wanted. This life. This road. It was my choice…

"It was just a dream, Cowboy," her voice cuts through the darkness.

"Fucking nightmare," I mutter back at her. Real. She feels so real. It was just a dream. Just a nightmare. _This_ is the reality. I'm blind. But – I'm here. In this house. In this room. And for some reason there's an angel who gives a shit about my sorry ass.

She pulls me closer – why the fuck does she care enough to do this? To sit with me while I shake? Nothing is as it should be – nothing makes any sense any more.

This has to be part of the dream. It wouldn't be the first time I've thought I was here, but I wasn't – not really. I wake up from some self-created Hell – be it memory or something truly self-inflicted – and she comes in, just like this… she holds me – just like this. She tells me I'm safe – and I let my guard down. I let her in. And then there's breaking glass and bullets flying and suddenly she's dead, dripping hot, wet blood in my arms… of course I can't see it – but I hear her muffled, dying sobs… I hear her daughter scream in the next room… and I can't move…

I'm shaking again, desperately searching for any sign that this is anything other than waking reality... how can you search for something when you can't see anything...? Maybe I'll just wake up in some rubber room somewhere wearing a white huggy-jacket for people who need to learn to love themselves…

She's still holding me.

No glass breaks.

No bullets fly.

No blood.

Of course I haven't let her in.

That has to happen first. First I let her in and then she dies.

_Right, fuckmook,_ I tell myself, acerbically. _She doesn't **want** 'in' – she's just a nurse doing her job. Just doing her job. I'm nothing more than a patient – a fucked up patient…_

"Come on," Beth is standing – pulling me up with her, "I have an idea."

I'm almost afraid to ask.

"You haven't had a bath in two days," she answers my unspoken question.

"Is that a proposition?" I manage to quip – my voice is still shaky though. Two days – it doesn't feel like it's been three days ... but my body is still pretty exhausted... I've been sleeping a lot... or maybe she's drugged me - Hell, I wouldn't blame her. The more time I spend sleeping, the less she has to deal with me...

Beth manages to pull me to my feet and walk me to the bathroom. I can make the trip without help – but I guess right now I'm so shaky I'm grateful for the guide. She sits me on the toilet and I hear water running…

Off the top of my head, I can think of about eight ways to kill a man in a bathtub…

"I'm going to take the bandages off and have a look-see,"she says in a gentle tone.

I just nod. She already knows what I look like – and I don't really expect Cicily to come barging into her mother's bathroom at three o'clock in the morning.

She did come in last night (night? Well, it was the last time I slept anyway) – but that was because I cried out in my sleep – sixteen years without a soul to care whether I live or die and suddenly I've got two angels looking out for me. I don't get it.

"Well, Doc?" I ask, when I feel the last of the bandages fall away. I hate this feeling. Exposure.

"Looking pretty good," Beth tells me. "The last of that infection seems to have cleared."

I feel her feather-touch on the edge of my eye sockets – I still don't know how she can do this without hurling.

"Pain?" she asks.

"Minimal," I tell her honestly. It's tender – but it's less tender than it has been.

"I think that tomorrow you can lose the bandages," she tells me. "Except maybe to sleep in."

I knew this was going to come sooner or later. No good doctor lets her patient lean on his crutch for any longer than is necessary... and I've become convinced that if nothing else, Beth is a very good doctor.

I become aware of her standing – turning – the water shuts off. Then I hear her clear her throat, "Are you going to wear your robe into the tub? I mean, not that it doesn't need a bath too – but even the laziest man I ever met didn't do his laundry while he was wearing it."

I almost feel like I'm blushing – except I don't blush. Ever. I stand and, fighting back a self-consciousness that I just don't understand, slip out of my bathrobe without giving utterance to any of the witty comments playing around in my head. Comments that are really designed to deflect attention from the way I feel.

Before the Day of the Dead, I considered myself a desirable man. I may not be a body builder, but I keep in shape – and it's how you use it that counts - and I have certainly _never _had any complaints in that area. But the face – I've had so many women fall for my face – my eyes… eyes they could get lost in, they'd say… _with the glasses no one will ever know_… no one but **me**...

Beth's arms are strong as she helps me into the tub. "Lean on me,"she instructs, as if realizing how hard I'm trying not to put my full weight on her.

She probably _does_ realize it – I can't seem to put anything past this woman; I let her take a little bit more of my weight as I step into the tub… the water is …perfect. "I don't know how you do it," I tell her, easing myself down into the warmth. I am very sure she is smiling – probably some clever little pleased-with-herself grin. I don't care right now – the warmth of the water just feels too damned good on my sore hide. I lean back experimentally to discover – yes, one of those old fashioned steeping tubs with the sloped back. "I think I could sit in here forever," I murmur, leaning back just a little further. This is probably as close to Heaven as I am ever going to get.

Beth chuckles softly, "I told you a bath was just what you needed."

And I really don't know what I've done to deserve her…

"If you don't mind a little help – we can probably wash that hair of yours."

"You do realize just how hard it is for me to trust someone, right, Sugar Butt?" My tone is definitely pensive.

"I've got a pretty good idea," she says – I hear her kneel down next to the tub.

Fighting back the fear and paranoia that are just part of who I am, I scoot forward and with her strong hands to guide me, I lay my head partially into the warm water… I wonder if she even knows how easy it is to drowna man in this position...

Beth scoops water up to the very top of my forehead, being very careful of my …injury. Then she helps me sit up.

"I'm afraid all I have for shampoo is pretty girly," she tells me, by way of apology.

"Beggars can't be choosers," is my only reply – the mighty Sheldon Sands is about to smell like vanilla and flowers…she chuckles softly.

Beth massages my scalp while washing my hair – it is the most marvelous feeling… I quite seriously think the last person to wash my hair was my mother – and I was all of four or five at the time. It definitely didn't feel like this… I feel as if I'm starting to relax… really relax… until I think about breaking glass and flying bullets…

"Shhh," she says gently, "You really are safe here, Cowboy."

As much as I'd like to believe her, I know that there is no such thing as safe… not for men like me… it's not just the cartel or whomever _else_ might want to kill me at this very instant – it's just who I am. I say nothing and thankfully she doesn't press the issue.

Beth helps me rinse my hair - and then I feel her fingers linger over several old scars on my back. She was probably so busy every other time she had me with my shirt off that she didn't really notice. But she doesn't ask. She just – damn, she has good hands. I feel some of the knots coming out of places I'd forgotten weren't supposed to have knots. Only I know what's going to happen if I let my guard down…

Her soft voice breaks my thoughts, "You wanna talk about it?"

About what – about the scars? The nightmares? I just shake my head. "I've got it from here, Darlin'," I tell her gently, easing back against the tub so she has no choice but to stop what she's doing… even though it felt fucking amazing. "Unless of course you'd like to join me," I manage a lascivious grin.

"Not tonight, Cowboy," she tells me. "I'll be in the bedroom – and if you don't call me to help you out of the tub – you _will _regret it."

"Promises, promises," I tease her – I listen carefully to her retreat. "You're getting soft," I tell myself. Soft isn't something I've ever been – isn't something I'll ever be. Isn't something anyone in my line of work _can_ ever be… I wasn't even soft where Ajedrez was concerned – just sloppy. Stupid. Fucking stupid. "Everyone will betray you, given sufficient time and motive," I remind myself – but I can't make myself believe my angel would hurt me… yes she would. She's only human. And humans suck. I learned that a long, long, _long_ time ago.

"_I have a **what**?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing from the other end of the phone. The **phone** for Christ's sake! What kind of woman tells a man something like this **over the phone**?_

"_I said, you have a daughter," Holly's voice remained calm. As if she wasn't telling me anything more extraordinary than – I don't know, she'd cut her hair or something. _

_Her tone as much as the news itself infuriated me. "We broke up four fucking years ago!" More like you walked out on me four fucking years ago… _

"_Her name is Emma – Emiline Marie."_

"_How – French."_

"_Oh, Christ, Shelly. I just thought you might like to know what the end result of that summer was."_

"_It's been four fucking years!" _

"_Maybe this was a mistake –"_

"_What do you need?"_

"_What?"_

"_I said, what do you need?" I repeated, as my rational brain began kicking in. A woman doesn't just drop a bombshell like this unless she's found her back up against the wall… I lit up a cigarette. _

"_I don't need anything – I just – I thought you might want – to know."_

"_Then why wait four years to tell me about it?"_

"_I – I don't know. The way we left things – when I found out I was pregnant – I didn't want to bother you."_

"_You mean you didn't want to take the chance I might get all warm and fuzzy and insist on being a part of your lives."_

"_I never worried about you being warm and fuzzy." Her tone was ice._

_I took a long drag of my smoke. "Where are you?"_

"_New York."_

"_Fine – we'll have lunch tomorrow and sort this out."_

"_I can't meet you tomorrow – I have appointments all day –"_

"_I am the father of your fucking child. Cancel your appointments. I'll call you when I get into the city and tell you when and where to meet me." I slammed down the receiver before she could say another word._

Yeah – people suck.

I knew Holly was pissed at me about the way we left things – her asking me not to go – me telling her not to make me choose – her giving me an ultimatum, her or the CIA. I tried to be reasonable with her – it wasn't like in the movies – I wasn't going to be a spy… ok, so I was lying my ass off, but she didn't know it. Hell, even I didn't know exactly what I was getting into.

But Christ, four years? Four _fucking_ years to get around to telling me I'm a fucking _father_ I wasn't that impossible to reach. Betrayed. Betrayed by the only woman I honestly believed I'd ever loved… and for what? She didn't _gain_ anything by keeping her little secret… unless the only thing she wanted was to hurt me – to get back at me for not giving into her ultimatum. Or not giving into it the way she wanted me to...

We had lunch. We sorted out the details. No, I wasn't going to have anything to do with my kid – boy did Holly look relieved when I told her that. But I did want updates. I wanted yearly photos and copies of report cards. I wanted to know what Emma was doing – and I sure as Hell expected to be told if there was ever a problem. Holly gave me a look – but after realizing it was a losing argument, she acquiesced. We both knew what a dick I could be – just because I had no desire to be a Daddy didn't mean that I wouldn't take this fight to court if she didn't give in to my – in my opinion _quite _reasonable – terms. I mean – four _fucking _years it took her to get around to letting me know I've got a kid and now she's gonna quibble about sending me a God damned photo once in a while? Christ.

That's when I got the P.O. box in Santa Fe. Under an alias. I set up an account with an associate of mine who handles discrete finances – he didn't have to know what it was really for. Every few months, depending on how fucked up my world happens to be, I send him a check. He deposits it. When Emma turns eighteen, she gets a big fat college fund.

_Four fucking years…_

Can't trust strangers. Can't trust friends. Can't trust anyone. Only yourself… that's the real reason this whole thing went to shit on me. I trusted the Company's background check on Ajedrez. I trusted Collins to send in back up. I trusted El to do his part… fuck me. But good.

I pull myself a little further into the water, trying to let it's warmth work some of the tension out of my body… I really do feel like shit. It's more than just the nightmares, it's the not knowing what's going to happen next.

I fully expect the president's people to come looking for me… after all, I was aware of an assassination attempt and I failed to report it to the proper authorities – in fact, put the right spin on the story and I'm as guilty as Barillo.

I start going through the list of people I think I_ might_ be able to trust – Dan Collins is my immediate Company "supervisor" – and the bastard who hung up on me just before that fateful lunch date with Ajedrez. I _know_ he fucking screwed me over – I just don't know why. Rebecca Suarez – his immediate supervisor – has had it in for me since I put a couple of kinks into an op she was running in Bogotá… Suarez and I sort of had different agendas – it's not my fault I'm better than she is. "So that effectively kills the chain of command," I muse aloud. Because there is the very real possibility that she's behind Collins' actions. Or lack thereof.

I could, in theory, call the main office. I requested a new line – a new phone – someone was supposed to meet me at the Flying Cow and I never showed. So theoretically I might actually have something that _vaguely_ resembles back up wondering where the Hell I am and what went wrong… problem with that scenario – problem? Try problem**s**. As in lots of them.

**One** – Suarez is surly aware ofmy request for a new line.

**Two **– Collins most definitely is. Hell, he could have been asked to handle the new line.

**Three** – I know just how popular I really am back home. There is a reason I'm living in this Hell hole, kiddies. They didn't send me here to work on my tan – they sent me here because I have pissed off just about everyone there is to piss off, short of the President of the United States himself… or at least, I don't think I've pissed him off. You never know. I know I wasn't number one on his old man's list… but that's another story.

**Four** – let's not forget the fact that everything went to Hell in a hand basket on me down here.

**And Five** – I was kind of hotdogging most of it anyway. That shouldn't surprise you. It shouldn't surprise Collins or anyone else, either, but for some reason they continue to be shocked by my antics. Antics. That's their word. But it's starting to grow on me. (Collins knew _most _of my plan... there were a few _tiny little _things I left out - not the least of which were the details involving me and a girl and twenty million pesos...hmph - I wonder who ultimately made off with that.)

Oh, I did get the general order to do something about Barillo – he was getting too powerful, too popular – he was upsetting the natural order of things – upsetting the balance. And there are any number of guys back home who wanted to see the president brought down some time in the reasonably near future as well (believe it or not, he really is just too good of a man for some people's liking) … but I think they had a quiet accident in mind.

Sometimes I wonder if the people who hand me assignments like this have ever even _looked_ at my file. I'm a cowboy, a hotdog… Christ. Christ on a crutch – I do like that one – and for a couple of seconds I feel the smile flickering on my lips when I think about the lady I stole that from...

Then – I begin cycling through the very short list of people I think I either **a)** _might_ be able to trust not to have screwed me over already – **b) **who owe me big, or – **c) **on whom I have enough dirt to assure a certain amount of requisite loyalty… the problem there is that I have to get to my collection of 'insurance policies' – I'm certainly not dumb enough to keep them in Mexico…

"Sands?"

I stir – the water around me is tepid, "I'm ok, Sugar Butt," I answer – the door is muffling her voice – so I know she hasn't come barging in at least. I hear the door open and move my head in that direction, "I must've dozed off."

"Apparently – you look like a prune."

That remark makes me smile – I don't even know why. I guess, maybe, that for just a few seconds, I can pretend that I can't see because I've got my eyes are closed. I can pretend that what I'm feeling is a familiar comfort – just a man and a woman going about a daily routine – sixteen years seem to melt away… for just a few seconds. "Would you do me a favour?"

"I don't know – is it something I'm likely to want to do?" I can hear the smile in her voice.

A part of me really wishes I could actually see it... "Probably not – hand me my razor and shaving cream – it's in the bag there, on the sink," I direct her. I can't tell you how damned good it felt to brush my teeth… I didn't even mind her going through my suitcase to find my toiletries.

"You sure you're ready for that?" She asks – her tone isn't at all condescending or patronizing.

"Gotta figure it out sooner or later – besides, if I slice open an artery, I've got my favourite nurse right here."

I hear her laugh – a moment later, I feel her hand on my shoulder – when I raise my hand, she presses the razor into it. She puts the travel sized can of shaving cream into the other hand and stands back… "Ye of little faith," I tease her.

I am very sure she is laughing at me, even if she's making the effort not to do it too loudly…

"Question for you," I say, after managing to find my face with the foamy shaving jell, "What colour is your bathrobe?"

"What?" her tone clearly indicates that she thinks it's a silly question – especially as I'm preparing to put a very sharp razor to my face.

"What colour is your robe?" I repeat – and make the first try… since I don't hear her gasp, I figure I'm at least not spurting blood all over her bathroom tile.

"Pink – why?"

"I knew it," I smile – not really something I should be doing while shaving… I feel the razor knick into my skin.

"You ok?"

"I'll live. What about your night gown?"

"Black. Why?"

"Interesting," is all I say – I wouldn't have guessed that… white maybe. Cream. Light blue. But not black… I try to picture it in my head... all I can really see is a box of 'Good-n-Plenty' candies... blegh.

After I'm satisfied that my face is clean shaven once more, I hand the razor back tomy favourite nurse and dutifully wait until she's put it back away before trying to stand. I'm feeling much better than when I went into the tub.

"Reach up – one o'clock – towel rack," she tells me after we've gotten me intoa standing position.

I follow her instructions and immediately come into contact with a towel – it's big and fluffy and smells – much like the rest of her house. Warm. "Mind if I ask you a real question?" I say as I'm toweling off.

"You can _ask_ anything," I hear the smile in her voice.

My chuckle is soft – but it's there. "You said you left this Neal guy three years ago – but Hermano said you've only lived here a year. What'd you do in between?"

"I'll make you a deal – I answer you if you answer me something."

"Not sure I can go making a deal like that, Darlin'."

"For all that I'm sure it's worth – you have my word that I won't ask anything that I think is some kind of international secret."

I consider – I suppose I could always refuse to answer – or just lie. "You've got a deal."

I can almost hear her smile – and I suddenly wonder what she wants to know… but she answers first, "There are places in the world – in the States – where a person can still vanish. People who use cash for almost everything – and I'm not talking radical conspiracy nuts," she adds. "Just people who live a simpler life."

"I have a hard time picturing you hiding out with the Amish, Sugar Butt."

Her hoot of laugher is quite unexpected, "Oh – dearest – I'm sorry," she says as she attempts to regain herself. "No – no I most certainly did no go and live amongst the Faithful of that Fold. Although I do wonder what they'd've done with someone like me – no, I'm a musician. Or at least I like to fancy that I am."

"You're very good," I tell her still trying to figure out what exactly about that statement was so funny…

"Oh good, I'm glad someone still thinks so. No, no Amish – just me and three other women on the road playing folk music. Here," she takes the towel from my hand and surprises me by handing me a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. "I figured you might want something clean – although I have to admit – your – um – fashion sense – is a little scary."

I just chuckle – the truth is that nothing in my suitcase is an accident. From the ugly purple T-shirt brazenly identifying me as a CIA agent (purchased in a shop that sells novelty shirts) to the tacky tourist T-shirts – everything is calculated to disarm the people around me - or put it in their faces that I refuse to play by the rules.A few of the T-shirts I've bought, I simply own becuase I'm a rude prick and I think the world should know it. "What'd you bring me?" I ask her.

"'I'm with Stupid' looked a little grungy, so I settled on 'The Man / The Legend,'" Beth tells me.

I laugh – it's as much to mask my surprise as anything else – that's two for two that she's surprised me tonight. The T-shirt in question has a pair of arrows, 'The Man' – pointing up – 'The Legend' points the same place 'I'm with Stupid' points. I somehow would have expected her to find it entirely offensive. "You're too kind," I take the shirt from her hands.

"And don't you forget it, Mister. Ok, my turn to ask someting," she adds.

I nod and begin rake my fingers through my hair, trying to get out the worst of the knots – only to find Beth handing me a brush.

"This is much more effective," she tells me, as if it was something I couldn't figure out on my own…

"And your question is?" I ask, feigning exasperation.

"Cicily told me you said you had a daughter. Do you?"

"Having that hard of a time picturing someone putting up with my shit for long enough to procreate?" I have to struggle to keep the edge out of my voice. I don't want her to know she's hit a sore spot.

"Not really."

Three for three – Christ. "Yes. I have a daughter. She's about fourteen - fifteen, maybe." I don't honestly know whenEmma's birthday is. "I've never met her," I add, in the attempt to stifle further inquiry. My own _sister_ doesn't know I've spawned forth a child. Of course I instantly regret the tone I just took – not because I wish not to offend – but because it was probably a dead give away… soft and sloppy…

Beth says nothing, which tells me she realizes. Fucking great...

We walk together back to the bedroom – she's not really leading me this time, just walking next to me – I count the steps and don't fall. "You know – someone is going to come looking for you sooner or later," she says in a soft voice, as I'm putting myself back into bed.

I tense up… but no, I'm pretty sure she's just making the observation. "I'll – be out of your hair – tomorrow?" Surly someone as gracious as my angel won't chuck me out in the middle of the night, even if I _am _an ass… _but of course, Sheldon, you **know** that people suck. Why would you expect any less?_ I ask myself.

Beth sits down on the bed next to me, "That's not what I'm saying, Cowboy. You're welcome to stay here as long as you want – as long as you need," her tone is really hard to figure out. She sounds almost – sad… regret? Regret over what… selling me out?

I just shake my head, and try not to think about the possibility. "No – you're right – someone is bound to come looking sooner or later. And with my luck, it'll probably be sooner. But – I really do appreciate – everything."

I feel her hand on my leg – her touch is light – but – there's something reassuring about it. "Someday, you_ are_ going to trust me, Sheldon Sands," she says - and everything about her tone tells me she believes what she's saying – her belief makes me want to believe…

_Christ, I'm an idiot. _"I don't even trust myself most days," I quip back with a smile.

"Come on – you should try to get some sleep – you want me to sit with you a while?"

I open my mouth to tell her that I'm a big boy – but the strangest thing comes out instead: "Yeah – if – you don't mind."

"Although I imagine yours have got to be a million times worse, Cowboy, you're not the only person around here who has bad dreams."

And then – four for four – she shocks the shit out of me by curling up next to me… I remember her doing that while I was delirious – but now I'm cognizant – and I sleep with a loaded pistol under my pillow… and this little woman who by her own admission is still a little jumpy around men is lying next to me with her head on my shoulder. "You really should be more careful, Sugar Butt, a man could get the wrong idea," I tell her softly. No, I don't actually think anything of it – I know better, I know what I look like – but just because I can control my mind doesn't mean I can control my body, which is having a definite reaction to the close proximity of a member of the fairer sex – although I try to tell myself that this is what got me into trouble in the first place…

Without a word, Beth props herself up on elbow. She's still dangerously close – I feel her fingers running through my damphair… I'm not sure what I'm expecting…but the sound of her voice is certainly as pleasant as anything else…

_Cá fhad é ó  
Cá fhad é ó _

_Siúil tríd na stoirmeacha.  
Dul tríd na stoirmeacha. _

_Cá fhad é ó  
an tús don stoirm.  
Cá fhad é ó  
an tús go deireadh. _

_Tóg do chroí.  
Siúil tríd na stoirmeacha.  
Tóg do chroísa.  
Dul tríd na stoirmeacha. _

_Turas mór.  
Tor tríd na stoirmeacha. _

_Turas fada.  
Amharc tríd na stoirmeacha. _

"What was that?" I ask quietly when she finishes. I recognize the language, although my own knowledge of it is limited to a few colourful phrases.

" 'How far is it from, how far is it from; walking through the storms. Going through the storms. How far is it from the beginning to the storm. How far is it from the start to the end. Lift your heart. Walking through the storms. Lift your heart! Going through the storms. Great journey. Heavy through the storms. Long journey. Look through the storm,.' " she translates, speaking rather than singing the words – although it's no less lyrical spoken than sung.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The song Beth sings is _Storms of Africa_ by Enya (lyrics in Irish Gaelic) – translation into English found at _http / www . pathname . com / enya ..._ as my **own** knowledge of the language is limited a couple of colourphrases...


	9. An Old Friend

Glamis Castle Rose – Formatting gremlins! (Not that I don't have my fair share of typos, but usually Word screams at me w/ squiggly red lines…) I'll go back and hunt up the run-together words… Thanks for letting me know!

And to Midnightmuse and Captn-Jacks-Bonnie-Lass – again, thank you!

I hope this chapter is as good – it's been a bit of a struggle to write as I enjoy Beth and Sands together so much myself… but it's time to crank up a whole different kind of heat…

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"_I've been muckraking through the palace moats of my past, rousing the alligators, listening to their allegations and let me tell you, it's been **fascinating**…"_

_ an old friend_

Chapter Eight

_An Old Friend _

In that hazy place between sleep and wakefulness, I stir – and my arm falls across… the empty space on the mattress next to me.

Well, what the fuck _else_ did I expect, I wonder acerbically. Just because I remember falling asleep with an arm tucked securely around my waist and the warmth of a woman's body pressed up against mine… _Right,_ _fuckmook._ I know what I look like – even if she's kind enough to look me straight in the face… I know what I look like. I know that no other woman will ever look at me again… not like I'd like them to… not the way I'd like…

_Nurse._

_Patient._

"One fucked up patient," I mumble to myself.

I lay still and listen to the world around me. Birds. Day. No fucking clue what time of day – but day. I guess it's a start.

The house seems quiet – which doesn't necessarily mean that something horrible has happened while I slept. In fact, it probably just means that Beth has decided I'm well enough not to need a constant baby sitter. I rake my fingers through my hair (it does feel good to have it clean again – even if it does smell a little girly) and wonder just what day it is, anyway…

Let's see – Friday – Saturday – Sunday? Monday? Gotta start keeping track of these things… which is kinda hard when you can't even tell whether it's day or night when you wake up. How do blind people do it, I wonder (yes, I know I'm a fucking blind person too… but that's a relatively new development and I guess I'm having a hard time lumping myself in with the rest of them. Us. What the fuck ever.) I know about Braille – I too have seen the Miracle Worker enough times to want to puke... damn, I am in a surly mood this morning. Maybe it's just as well Beth's stepped out for a little while. She doesn't deserve my short fuse.

I feel around for the shirt I never got around to putting back on last night – it has to be here – ah-ha. I feel for the tags – no sense in looking like a moron with my shirt on backwards or inside out. After pulling it over my head, I reach for the nightstand where Beth told me she'd put my sunglasses – they are right where they should be. She said she cleaned them up for me – not that it really matters. I couldn't see out of them anyway… _with the glasses no one will ever know… no one but **me.**_ _And her… _some sadistic (or maybe masochistic) part of my brain whispers at me. She knows what I look like. Skull face. Freak. Ok, I always was a freak – but now I look like one. I think Holly might call that Karma.

"All right, Sands," I tell myself aloud, "Pity isn't in your vocabulary – and that includes self pity. Time to get cracking – get to work – come up with _something_ that is going to pull your sorry ass out of this mess."

Right. I don't even know the extent of the damage… Ok, one thing at a time. And first on the order of today's business is answering Nature's Call.

I feel my way to the bathroom and go about taking care of the usual morning necessities – although I can't quite help but smile as I brush my hair, thinking of Beth and her little rebuke last night… (it takes me several long, annoying moments to find the brush, first, however… gotta start remembering where everything is… fuck, too much little shit to think about, especially first thing in the morning – morning? Christ, it could be evening, for all I know.)

I find the pony holders in my toiletry bag… and stop dead in my tracks (perhaps literally) as a painfully familiar sound comes to my attention… it is the distinctive _click_ of a pistol's hammer being cocked. And it is very, very close to the back of my skull – which generally speaking is not the place one wants to find a pistol pointed.

Slowly, I drop the handful of hair and set down the brush. I put my hands behind my head and lace my fingers together… and all I can think about is what I'm going to do to this fucker for hurting my angel – _both of them_.

I concentrate very hard on breathing – just breathing… breathe. Listen. Think…

"Take it easy Jeff. I'm only here on vacation."

I know that voice. It's been a Hell of a long time since I've heard it… but there are people in this world I really would recognize even with my eyes drilled out. My mind swims with all the possible reasons the Company could have for sending this man out to find me… I don't particularly care for any of them. "You picked a Hell of a place for a vacation, Milo" my tone is cold and steady – quiet. I begin to think of what I'm going to do to him if I discover he's hurt Beth or Cicily (Milo isn't like me – so there is_ some_ chance he hasn't even touched them…) I flash him one of my charming little half-smiles but keep the rest of my face positively still. I no doubt he can see my face reflected in the mirror.

"Tell me about it. This little shit hole of yours is even worse than I'd imagined."

"You should have been here a couple weeks ago. Mind if I turn around – have this conversation face to face like men? Or are you just going to shoot me in the back?" My tone remains cold – calm – mildly sardonic. We've never been partners – but I've had this guy's back more than once – and I never stabbed him in it. Have I mentioned that people suck?

"We both know if I'd wanted you dead, you would be," Milo's tone is easy – smooth. Calm.

This is as good a place as any to mention that until ten seconds ago, Milo Givens was at the top of that very, very short list of people I believed had yet to screw me over. And he's about the only one on that list with at least a couple of very good reasons_ not_ to screw me over – but apparently someone came up with a good reason for him to do it anyway. I guess I'm the first person to tell him – or anyone else – that "old time's sake" doesn't count for shit.

See, we have a very strange history together – and it all starts out with a time when I could have made Milo's life very uncomfortable but I chose not to. The dirt wouldn't matter now, but to a kid of twenty-four, it would have been emotionally devastating to have certain facts leak out back at Langley. (Granted, I let him sweat it a little – but after watching him dance on razor blades for a week and a half, I invited him out for a beer and assured him that as far as I was concerned, the intimate details of his personal life were honestly none of the Company's business. I'm pretty sure it took him several months to actually believe that I wasn't going to tell anyone. That was fun to watch.)

I wouldn't necessarily think that that would count for much – but six years ago we shared a common nightmare… and that – I thought – did count for something.

I turn slowly, trying to remember what in this room will make a good weapon. He's close – I smell oil and the tang of gunpowder –the gun's the muzzle just a couple of inches from my nose. And it hasn't been fired in a while – I'd smell more powder if it had. Not that shooting would be the only way to kill someone, especially if he wanted to make a quiet entrance… which obviously he did… _damn it, damn it all to Hell and back again… _nightmare memories of breaking glass and flying bullets begin to infiltrate my brain…

Focus. Think. Keep him talking while I try to piece together what's really happened… _just because you can't make out **any** sounds coming from any other room in the house doesn't mean something horrible's happened to Beth and Cicily while you were fucking sleeping… _I tell myself. Tilting my head just slightly to one side in an inquisitive gesture, I ask, "So what _do_ you want?"

"Rumour has it you're dead."

"Guess rumours have a way of turning themselves into reality."

I hear him laugh – it's a darkly amused laugh. "Just on vacation, Jeff," he tells me again.

Right. And I'm the Queen of England. "I'll bet."

"Any particular figure you'd put on that bet?"

I favour him with a smirk – it probably matches the one he's wearing on his own dimpled face. "Sorry – nothing to cut you in on this time. My little bonus seems to have walked away in someone else's pocket."

"Bummer."

Now – I _know_ this isn't about money. Milo's a stand up guy – I mean, other than having a gun in my face… he is honestly my exact opposite in just about every way. (Picture this: five ten, five eleven, maybe – totally average build – not quite as skinny as me in the middle – brown hair, brown eyes, clean cut – boy next door – he even has dimples for Christ's sake. Hell, he's probably standing there wearing a polo shirt and Dockers. We won't even go into what he keeps in his CD player.)

"You here to bring me in?" I ask, still trying to feel out the situation. (Because back up doesn't usually arrive pointinga gun at the person they're backing up – and Milo isn't the guy you send in as back up, he's the guy who comes in to take out the trash… we haven't kept in touch, but I do have an idea of the path his career has taken.)

"Far as the Company knows I'm enjoying a couple of weeks of fun in the sun at the Santiago Resort in Palm Springs. I even booked myself a room and checked in, in person before sneaking off to come find you. Which wasn't easy, I might add. Rumours of your death not withstanding – you buried yourself pretty good."

"So if this really is just a social call, why precisely are we having this conversation over a loaded revolver?" If he's not here to bring me in – than he either waited until I was alone in the house or hasn't done worse than knock Beth out… and maybe Cicily is just in school… If it's Monday, that seems like a safe bet… but nothing is a safe bet…

"Because – you are who you are, and I am who I am," he tells me, "And because it's a little early in the day to be having it over a bottle of rum. Or cheap vodka." I think he's smiling… if it weren't for all the other thoughts going through my mind, I might be smiling too… Milo and I have gotten ourselves good and drunk just a couple of times – the first time it was rum, second time was something that was being passed off as vodka – but I swear might have been turpentine for all I know… at the time we really didn't care.

"It's just as well," I tell him, "The rum around here is about as bad as that shit they were calling vodka at the – what was the name of that joint again?"

"Hell if I remember. I barely remember stumbling back to our hotel. I only wish I could forget the Karaoke – I think Freddy Mercury was rolling in his grave that night." Now I'm sure he's smiling – I can hear it in his voice. Then the revolver's hammer slips back into place – feel the gun move out of my face…

And I ball my right hand into a fist and land a good one across his jaw. The impact knocks Milo backwards – where he stumbles over the lip of the tub, landing in it (a very awkward position with a very painful sounding _thump_). The gun falls to the floor, I kick it out of the room. Which isn't to say that he doesn't have at least two or three more weapons on his person…

"Jesus Christ, Jeff! What the Hell was that for?"

"For putting a God damned revolver in the back of my head, fuckmook!"

"Oh for Christ's sake, I was standing there for three full seconds before cocking the hammer – don't tell me you didn't see me!"

"I didn't see you."

"You were looking straight at me," I hear him start to haul himself out of the tub…

If I could see his eyes, I'd know if he was lying. If I could see at all, I wouldn't need to look into his eyes because I would have seen him standing behind me – probably fucking smirking at me in the mirror. I extend my hand (that would be the one attached to the arm that _wasn't _shot.) The instant I feel Milo's grasp, I haul him to his feet – and manage to keep him off balance as I spin him around and pin his arm into a very painful position behind his back (falling over into him as we go, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't realize that it's because I've recently had my legs pierced. Hmmph – kinda sounds like new trend – have you seen some of the crazy ass shit kids are doing these days?)

I shift my weight and shove Milo's face into the sink as hard as I can, kicking his ankles apart at the same time. A bit crude – but effective, as long as he doesn't resist too hard. My legs are already protesting the demands I've just put on them. I ignore it. I also ignore the mild throbbing in my skull. "Happy to see me, old friend, or is that a gun in your shorts?" I purr savagely into his ear before going digging… see the one place that most men are loathe to check for a gun is in the crotch – that's why it's the perfect place to conceal one.

"Damn – if I'd known it was this easy to get you into my pants, I'd've pulled a gun on you years ago. Hey – easy thereHandsome – or I'm going to make you buy me dinner when you're through."

Despite the levity of his words, I can hear the hint of real fear in Milo's voice. I am not a stand up guy and we both know it. I've always been just a little off-kilter. Duh, bet you need to see my psych report to figure that one out, right?

I extract the little revolver from its hiding place, haul him back into a standing position, and press the muzzle of his gun directly into the back of his left ear. "Now – one more time – _what_ are you doing here?" I give that arm I have pinned an extra push upwards to emphasize that I am not in the mood to play games – and although he doesn't quite vocalize the pain, I know it hurt.

"You have really fucking lost it, Jeff!" Milo struggles – but at the moment I have a slight advantage in that I'm the one with the gun... my second advantage is that he apparently has no idea how badly injured I really am.

"Don't make me ask a third time," I cock the hammer of the little pistol, just to make him understand that I have absolutely no qualms about smoking his brains out right here. At the very least, he settles down a little. Probably doesn't want the gun discharging accidentally.

"I heard you were dead. I also heard you'd lost it. I'm beginning to believe that one."

"Anything else?"

"That you were sleeping with Armando Barillo's daughter."

That one makes me laugh.

"Jesus Christ – don't tell me you were banging Barillo's daughter - when did you get so fucking stupid?"

"Sticks and stones, Sugar Butt," I reply. Milo, you see, is the original Sugar Butt. And Christ,** _no_**, I do **_not_** swing that way! Even when we were being held together in a tiny dark cell, awaiting the next "session" with our jailor, I did _not_ play Raoul Julia to his Bill Hurt. I did think we'd somehow come to a sort of real understanding, nursing one another's wounds in the dark, something that may have resembled friendship… I _never _thought I'd be shoving a gun into this man's skull… but there is nothing in our history that will keep me from pulling the trigger now – not with the way he came in – not with the possibility of someone like Beth getting hurt because she was kind enough to care about my sorry ass.

As for 'Sugar Butt,' that started one drunken night (long before the afore mentioned unpleasant adventure) over entirely too much rum – although that is the last time I let a gay man book my vacation, even if it was the dead last place anyone would come looking for us… Vanishing had been the general idea, after swindling some rather nasty men out of a rather large sum of money (just a little unofficial bonus for a couple of under-paid CIA officers)… but I digress… Over entirely too much rum, Milo admitted that he'd had something of a crush on when we first met – we had a few classes together back at Langley – although we were hardly what you'd call friends, even after I didn't blab his secret. He's another one who fell for the eyes… Damn. Of course even drunk, he immediately regretted owning up to his little crush, as I then felt obliged to start coming up with all sorts of annoying pet names. Mostly because I have always had every confidence that he knows I'm kidding (oh and because I know it _really_ bugs the shit right out of him to be called Sugar Butt. Milo isn't exactly some flaming petunia, kids.)

What – it surprises you that Mr. Macho Sands isn't homophobic? Hell, I figure if he pitches for the other side, that just leaves more women for the likes of me. I even find it somewhat flattering to have him think I'm good-looking – as fucked up as that really is if I stop to think about it for too long… but hey, my sister would be the first person to tell you that I've always been a vain little prick.

"So what now?" Milo asks me. His voice is stained – so whatever exactly I've done, I'm hurting him (it is really difficult to gauge the extent of the damage one is causing when one can't see – going to have to figure a way around that… it is important to inflict just the right amount of pain to the target. Remember that.)

"I haven't lost it," I tell him. "And I _was_ fucking Barillo's daughter – but I didn't know she was his daughter."

"Haven't you ever heard of a background check?"

"I had a God damned background check run on her!" Without quite meaning to, I push him harder into the sink – when I realize I've managed to do some real damage, I ease back just a little so he can breathe again. All I can think of is that someone was setting me up – six months ago, someone was setting me up… someone was taking their sweet ol' time, setting me up… and I want to know exactly who was in on it.

"Christ – you'd better fucking kill me, Jeff – because if you don't, I swear, I'm going to blow your nuts off for this!"

I manage a smirk, "Yeah, yeah, yeah – you've been making that promise for years. Now – give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow you straight to fucking Broadway, right here, right now." God, I need a cigarette.

"I'd rather not go 'straight' anywhere."

He's trying to remind me that we used to be something that almost resembled friends – it's a good tactic – or it would be if I was a civilian. But 'friend' is a word without meaning to guys like us, no matter how much history we have (or how fucking strange it is.) There might be honour amongst thieves, but there is no honour amongst spies. This wouldn't be the first time the Company has used someone's 'friend' to bring them down – except that the Company shouldn't know we were ever anything more than mildly adversarial classmates who happened to get stuck in the same Hell hole half a dozen years ago – all that other stuff was under the radar, so to speak… "Why?" I ask him.

"Why _what_?"

"Why bother? Why come all the way down here just to see for yourself if I've really lost it? What difference would it make to your little world if I've turned traitor?"

His laugh is incredulous, "You're a fucked up psychopath – but you're not a traitor."

I cluck my tongue in reprove, "You should have paid more attention, Milo – I'm a fucked up _**socio**path_."

"Look – what do you want me to say to convince you that I'm not here on Company time? Because let me tell you – this is getting a little uncomfortable."

No shit – in about five more minutes it's going to be moot – I'm ready to fall over. "How did you know about the little bonus I'd arranged for myself?"

"I know you. I took a wild guess."

Shit. Me and my big mouth… "What about the woman who lives here?" I ask at last. I'm not quite sure I want to know the answer… I don't even know if I can trust him to tell me the truth… Milo isn't me – but he's still CIA.

"Her and the little girl went out about ten minutes before I came in. Who are they?"

"Just people who're better than the two of us," I tell him, as I ease back enough so that he can straighten up – slowly, I give him the use of his arm back. And I listen – Milo moves slowly. Nice, easy movements – he's not lunging at me – not reaching for any other weapons, at least not as far as I can tell. I feel him turn to face me. I'm about to collapse. But I still have a gun trained in the direction of his voice.

"So what's the deal, here – with the woman?" he inquires further… apparently Milo's curiosity has been piqued by my little angel. However, his tone (and the fact he's asking at all) suggest that he's telling the truth about Beth and Cicily stepping out… If either was dead, they wouldn't people anymore, just a targets. And no one is curious about a target that's been eliminated. Shoot and move on, that's what they taught us.

"Don't worry about her – she's not in on anything," I tell him – standing is definitely a struggle now – I can feel my legs starting to shake. "Hell, I don't think she's even figured out what kind of asshole I really am."

"She did look just a little too Sweet Mary Oatblossom for you."

I laugh – yeah, I'd kinda figured that out too. "Come on – I need a smoke," I nod towards the bedroom. What I really need to sit down…

"You expect me to turn my back on you?" I hear a very distinct smile in his voice. It's mixed with some healthy fear, too – he doesn't have any more reason to trust me than I do to trust him… we haven't see each other in six years – and "old time's sake" doesn't count for shit.

I still can't quite resist the urge to tease him, though. "What – afraid I'll finally make your fondest wishes come true?"

"That a proposition?"

"You know I'm just a tease," I grin, gesturing towards the bedroom again. Remaining stoic has become an effort of will alone. The body has seriously about had it.

After about thirty seconds of indecisiveness, I hear Milo finally turn and walk into the bedroom – he's taking everything nice and slow – probably still trying to figure out if I've finally snapped.

I manage to snag my smokes from the nightstand without having to feel around – and I get one lit, one handed, because the gun still isn't wavering. I sit down on the bed. "So," I take a nice long drag and let the nicotine work its way into my system. My head is still pounding. I need caffeine – I need food. I need drugs. And I wonder if I'm going to have these monster headaches for the rest of my God damned life…

"So." He replies – he's standing about five feet away – directly in front of me. "Stalemate?"

"Pretty much yeah," I take another long drag off my cigarette. Decision time. "I had a background check run in Ajedrez –Barillo's daughter," I tell him – I have no idea how much background work he did before trotting his happy little ass down here to find me. "She came up clean."

"She couldn't have – I fucking know who she is."

"Was," I correct him.

"You?"

"Bet your sweet ass."

"So what happened?"

"Everything went to shit on me is what happened. I called for a background check – but it looks like I got the abridged version. Which is still more than I got when I asked for backup because I knew things were about to go south on me." The room is starting to spin. I take a couple of easy, hopefully not noticeably deep breaths.

"What are you saying?"

"First tell me why you're here on your own time. Nothing that happened in Fucks-it-stan-okov is worth your career." It was twenty-six days of Hell – but it wasn't the kind of Hell to inspire any kind of loyalty – I didn't do any more for him than he did for me and by the time it was over, we were both in pretty rough shape. And that was six years ago… I haven't even dropped Milo an email since then.

"This has nothing to do with Istlanistan – stov –?"

I smile just a little – even he doesn't remember – and it doesn't matter – those ten square miles of Eastern Europe have probably changed names and regimes a dozen times since we kissed the place good bye. "So what does it have to do with?" Because I know it has nothing to do with Caribbean rum and a petty dictator's dough, either… we split that one fifty-fifty – Milo doesn't owe me shit and I made damn sure I didn't owe him shit either. As the Good Bard says, _stay out of debt_.

"This has to do with me and six guys pinning me to a wall, pounding the shit out of me, just because I walked out of a particular bar on a particular street in a particular section of town."

Christ – that was almost sixteen years ago… "I thought I told you to forget about it," I give him my best Brooklyn Mobster accent. "I got my jollies breaking a few knee caps – it had nothing to do with you." And honestly – it didn't. I didn't even _like_ Milo – but there's still something about seeing a bunch of bullies beating up on a guy you know – a guy you're pretty sure couldn't _possibly_ have pissed them off enough to deserve the pounding he's getting. And – there was also something truly satisfying about pounding the crap out of a bunch of guys who reminded me of Chet Wheaton. Watching the blood ooze from the hide of a guy like that – it's right up there with slow roasted pork or good fuck.

"One of these days you're going to wake up all alone and realize how many people in this world might have cared about you if you'd given them half a chance, Jeff."

"Skip the psychoanalysis, Doc, I'm not in the mood. **_Christ_**," a sharp, hot pain lances through my skull, right behind the place where I used to have eyes. I realize my whole body is shaking with it and – yup, I've doubled over… I set the gun down next to me. Wouldn't want to accidentally blow a hole in Milo's head – all things considered, he's been down right civil…

"Jeff?" I hear the concern in Milo's voice – fucking fantastic. Someone _else_ who cares.

Why the Hell do people have to care? Why does_this guy_ have to go and blow my whole fucking theory of the universe being one Big Ugly Place? "Just shoot me now," I mutter. "Right here," I point at my forehead, my hand mimicking the shape of a gun.

I feel him reach for me – probably trying to make sure I don't actually fall on my face. Or if I'm lucky, he's going to put me out of my misery… but we've discussed my luck on several previous occasions so – nope, still alive. Fuck.

I wave off the proffered assistance with a couple of surly comments and manage to regain my balance all by myself. Sort of. The room is still wobbling.

"What the Hell's wrong with you?" I hear Milo ask. I'm pretty sure his question isn't directed at the cheerfully colourful language I was using to get him to back the Hell away from me.

Well, I suppose body has pretty much given me away, anyway, might as well fess up… I lift my head in the direction of his voice. "I didn't see you when you were standing behind me in the bathroom – I can't see you now. And this is why," I slide the glasses away from my face.

"Holy Mother of God," Milo's voice is barely audible as he sees for himself why he was able to sneak up on me so easily. (I know that has to have been bugging him, since he realized that no, I was not playing with him – and I'm beginning to suspect that I may not have been bluffing as well as I'd thought aboutnot being in pain.) "Jeff – what – what happened to you?"

"I'd think _that_ was reasonably obvious."

I hear him taking another a step back – probably just the shock – which was as much my intention as anything else. If he's here to shoot me – I just want him to know that nothing he can do is worse than what's already been done. Nothing the Company does can possibly be worse than what Barillo did to me… just the same, I find myself resenting his reaction (as a little tiny part of my brain remembers how close Beth has gotten to my face without even flinching...) "The condition isn't contagious, Milo" I snap. "Your eyes won't suddenly shrivel up and fall out if you get too close." I shove the glasses back into place trying to get a better reign on my temper.

"I – sorry – Jesus, I don't think I've ever seen –"

"Don't puke on the carpet," I tell him mordantly – I don't really think he's anywhere near hurling, I'm just being an ass.

"I – really don't know what the fuck to say," Milo finally admits.

"Say you'll help me figure out what happened – what _really_ happened."

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Raoul Julia and William Hurt starred together in the movie "Kiss of the Spider Woman."

The quote that begins this chapter really is from an old friend who periodically tosses off these delightfully witty quips.

And just for the fun of it, imagine if you will a pair of drunk off their assess CIA agents in a Karaoke bar somewhere in Eastern Europe, nursing the wounds of their recent incarceration/escape on cheap vodka, singing Queen…

_I'm the invisible man,  
I'm the invisible man,  
Incredible how you can,  
See right through me, _

When you hear a sound,  
That you just can't place  
Feel somethin' move  
That you just can't trace,  
When something sits  
On the end of your bed  
Don't turn around  
When you hear me tread.

I'm the invisible man,  
I'm the invisible man  
Incredible how you can  
See right through me  
I'm the invisible man  
I'm the invisible man  
It's criminal how I can  
See right through you.

Now I'm in your room  
And I'm in your bed  
And I'm in your life  
And I'm in your head  
Like the CIA  
Or the FBI  
You'll never get close  
Never take me alive

I'm the invisible man  
I'm the invisible man  
Incredible how you can  
See right through me  
I'm the invisible man  
I'm the invisible man  
It's criminal how I can  
See right through you,

Hah, hah, hah, hello,  
Hah, hah, hah, hello,  
Hah, hah, hah, hello-hello-hello-hello,  
Never had a real good friend - not a boy or a girl  
No-one knows what I've been through - let my flag unfurl  
So make my mark from the edge of the world,  
From the edge of the world,  
From the edge of the world,

Now I'm on your track  
And I'm in your mind,  
And I'm on your back  
But don't look behind  
I'm your meanest thought  
I'm your darkest fear  
But I'll never get caught  
You can't shake me, shake me dear,

I'm the invisible man,  
I'm the invisible man  
Incredible how you can  
See right through me  
I'm the invisible man  
I'm the invisible man  
It's criminal how I can  
See right through you  
Look at me, look at me


	10. There Are None So Blind

It is really heartening to know that this is being enjoyed (especially that last chapter!) I've had the house all to myself for the last couple of days... so I'm hoping to have at least one more chapter up in the day or so- I hope everyone is enjoying the holiday weekend!

Glamis Castle Rose, Midnight Muse, Quick - thank you again for your kind words. They mean so much to me.

Captn-Jack's-Bonnie-Lass – please forgive me, I meant to say last time that I was glad to hear you'd been inspired to crawl inside Sands' head for yourself and do a first person fic! It's a bit of a scary playground at times… but it's still a fun place to hang out!

Funky Little Armadillo – I can't tell you what a compliment it is that I kept you up late (although I guess I should apologize!) Thank you, thank you!

(Although I will let it out that eventually Beth does "go away" – temporarily – as part of the plot… but let's face it, she's under Sands' skin and even _he _knows it – even if he isn't ready to admit it, any more than he's willing to admit to his growing attachment to Cicily.)

**Chapter Nine:**

_There Are None So Blind..._

I direct Milo to get me a cool cloth from the bathroom and lean back against the headboard. I listen as he him walk into the bathroom room – runs the water… the rest of the house is as quiet as the grave… but I really have no reason not to believe that he waited until Beth went out before coming in. Milo isn't like me. He doesn't leave a trail of bodies in his wake.

Footsteps – he stops just in front of me – my best guess is that he's trying to figure out what to do… if it weren't for the pounding between my ears, I might let him stew for a few minutes figuring out how to be polite… but my head hurts too damned much to play games. "Thanks," I reach out and take the terry cloth from his hands. Its coolness does little to ease the headache, but it still feels good against my forehead.

"Welcome," he says softly – I hear a certain – discomfort – in his tone. Yeah, I'm not so easy to be around now, am I? Why is it people fear monsters? Why do they fear that which is beyond their ability to control or comprehend? If it was just me he was afraid of, I wouldn't give a rat's ass – but it's not _me_. It's the disfigurement that makes him uneasy – a thing he didn't cause and has no power to correct – a thing that is not contagious – and frankly, no one but me is ever going to be able to grasp the whole horrific extent of it. No one can say they understand. No one can sympathize. I don't want sympathy.

I feel the bed move as Milo sits down on the edge of it – he scoots a little closer. His movements are decidedly indecisive.

"Not tonight, dear, I have a headache," I mutter.

He manages to laugh at least. "Can I get you anything else?"

I ignore his question. "You know – the really fucked up thing is that I still get the urge to close them," I'm not really trying to shock him. Well, ok – maybe just a little. Maybe I want to shake him up enough that he'll stop walking around on eggshells and just talk to me. "I mean – there's nothing there to close – and all I want to do is lean back and close my eyes. Wonder what kind of field day the Company shrinks would have with me now."

I'm not sure if he gets the drift – or just honestly doesn't know how to respond. "What happened down here, Jeff?"

"I wish I knew. A little over six months ago, I started seeing this – hot little number – Ajedrez Cardenas." The sound of her name rolling off my tongue makes me ill. "AFN officer. And things were going just swell until her old man's buddy drilled out my eyes. I'd seen too much, you see."

"And in between points A and B?" he asks - rather patiently. Milo's like that.

"Well, when Ajedrez gave me a key to her apartment – about two months into it – I had a check run on her – just to cover my ass. She came up clean. I had no – _fucking_ – clue she was Barillo's daughter until – until the Day of the Dead."

I feel the mattress bounce lightly – Milo is probably nodding at me – or shaking his head, I can't really tell in my current condition… I bite back the acerbic comment forming in my throat and ask him to hand me my cigarettes and lighter instead. I can find them – but I'm afraid if I move my skull might actually split open, like Zeus giving birth to what's-her-name – Athena, I think. . I get a cigarettelit with minimal difficulty and leave the pack in my lap – I have the feeling that this story is going to require a lot of cigarettes.After taking a nice long drag of my smoke, "Once upon a time, there was General, a President, a Drug Lord and one lone Cowboy trying to keep the balance. Oh and there was a mariachi, too," I add, "Every good Western needs a mariachi, right?"

"A guitar player?"

"A guitar fighter."

"Guitar _fighter_?"

"A guy called El."

"El – as in 'the'?" Milo asks – and I can tell he's wondering if I didn't get knocked on the head along the way…

"Just – shut up and listen."

I don't quite realize it, but within moments of really getting going, I've slipped into the sort of cold detachment I would use during an official debrief. I give him the facts – the figures – and I don't pull any punches because if Milo is going to help me track down who's really behind my recent fall, he's going to have know where I screwed up. What I don't tell him is what a fucked up moron I really am. Of course, I'm pretty sure Milo can deduce that for himself. He's a bright kid. (All of four years younger than me, but I think I was always a little old for my years – and maybe that's all a part of the balance too. With my face, I got carded buying beer until I was almost thirty-five.)

I'm just about to my arrival on Beth's doorstep when I hear the backdoor opening. The sound stops me mid-sentence as I strain to hear… anything… Then a marvelously familiar voice calls out _hello_ – it rings through the house – and I think I can breathe again. I think I can relax. And it isn't that I didn't believe Milo – it's just that believing and knowing are two different things. And now I know.

I take a long last drag of what I think is my third or fourth cigarette and stamp it out, unfinished. I hear her footsteps – bare feet against hard stone floor – she's wearing jingly bells or bangles – her scent precedes her into the room and I shift slightly so I'm sitting up when she comes in.

"Sands, you –" she stops short at the bedroom's threshold. The smile that I heard in her voice vanishes. "Oh. Hello."

I feel Milo stand up and cross the room – if I know him, he stops a courteous three feet away from her, flashing his badge and extending his hand at the same time. (I've seen him pull Mr. Polite on any number of occasions – like I said, we're diametrically opposed to one another in just about every conceivable way.)

"Good morning, Ma'am – I'm Officer Milo Perry Givens – United States Central Intelligence Agency. Officer Sands was just telling me how you saved his life."

I hear Beth clear her throat – and oh, what I wouldn't give to see the look I know she's giving him – I'd love to watch her look through someone else the way I know she looks right through me – but most of all, I'd love to watch Milo squirm the way I do when she does it to me.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Officer Givens," her tone is reserved; she takes his hand (I can hear some bangly bracelets jingle.) "Would you excuse us for a few moments?" Skip reserved – she's giving himyour regular Jack Frost treatment.

"It's ok," I try to tell her.

"'_It_' might be ok – _you_ however are not." I hear her soft footfalls approaching the bed – the mattress sags slightly as she sinks onto it, on one knee, I think; she'sleaning over me. I become aware of her warmth – her scent… she pulls the cloth from my forehead and turns around, "Officer Givens, if you would be so kind – there is some bottled water in the fridge – kitchen is straight down the hall. Pour some over this – come back with the bottle please – and the black leather bag on the table."

"Yes, Ma'am," Milo's tone is difficult to interpret – I'm not sure if he's amused – or perplexed – or a little bit of both.

"Please close the door on your way out – and knock before you come back in."

"Yes, Ma'am," there is a distinct smile in his voice this time – he's probably laughing at me, being subjected to such an abrupt, authoritative woman on a regular basis – I wonder if he'd believe me that she isn't this way at all.

"It really is ok," I tell her as Milo retreats – and those footsteps are indeed the footsteps of a man beating feet to get out of a room.

Beth lifts the ashtray from my lap. "Five cigarettes," her tone has yet to thaw – she sets the ashtray on the nightstand – it hits with a dull thunk – and then she removes the nearly empty pack of cigarettes from my lap as well, before sitting down with her butt up against my hip. "**_Five_** _cigarettes_, and I've barely been gone an hour – and you _really_ expect me to believe that everything is fine? How bad is the headache?" She asks the second question without giving me time to answer the first.

"There's a loaded gun under the pillow – be a doll and put me out of our collective misery –?"

"No such luck, Cowboy."

"You sure?" I try to favour her with wry smile, but I feel like I'm coming up short.

Beth laughs softly, although it holds little amusement. "Yes, I'm sure. Let's have a look."

And I feel her hand near my face – and I know it's stupid but I turn away from her touch… I know she's already seen my face a dozen times… but – I just don't want her to see it right now, not with the memory of Milo's reaction so vivid in my memory. I know she knows… but I guess… I don't want her to be reminded… because… I am the world's biggest fuckmook. I really did do this to myself.

And if Milo had been anyone else, I'd be dead, not sitting here stewing in my own misery.

Beth and Cicily would likely be dead too.

_That _is a very sobering thought.

"I need to see if that infection has come back," her tone is calm – rational.

I'm in no fucking mood for rational. "It's_ just_ a headache. Give me some pills. I'll be fine." I turn my head further away from her and let my hair fall across my face, trying to just breathe through the pain. It is _just_ a headache.

After several long, uneasy moments (in which I honestly begin to believe I may have pissed Beth off for real), very gentle fingers brush my hair back out of my face – she seems to linger on me longer than is necessary… "You're making this difficult, Cowboy," her tone is as gentle as her touch.

"It was _always _difficult, Sugar Butt," I don't really mean to snap at her, but telling Milo what happened, telling someone the whole God damned story – remembering that I _am _my own worst enemy, that this never would have happened if I hadn't let myself get suckered in by a cheap piece of tail… Mutilation. Blindness. Betrayal. Stupidity.

There's a light tap at the bedroom door.

"Be right back," Beth tells me softly – I feel her rise from the bed – cross the room – she cracks the door open and slips out – she'd gone for longer than I think she should be… but… I honestly can't make myself believe Milo would do anything mean and nasty to her, not now… he's nothing like me.

Beth finally returns to my side – she sets down her bag and a plastic water bottle – then arranges the nearly ice cold cloth across my forehead. "Can you describe the headache to me?" She asks.

"It's a fucking headache – it hurts. Just give me drugs. I'll be fine."

I hear Beth open her bag and for half a second I think I might just maybe get what I want… and then I feel her fingers on my chin, as she tries to coax me to turn my head towards her. How much do you want to bet she has that God damned penlight of hers…

"You already_ know_ what it looks like. Trust me – nothing's changed in the last twelve hours." _I didn't spontaneously start growing new eyes… _

"Just let me make sure there's nothing wrong. I promise – I'll keep it brief."

_Make sure there's nothing wrong_ – who does she think she's kidding? **Everything's wrong.** _Mutilation. Blindness. Betrayal. Stupidity. **My **stupidity_

But I also know just how stubborn this woman is. She's not going to give in until I do.

"Whatever," I tell her at last, trying to make it sound like I don't really care.

I feel her pull the glasses away, robbing me of the one small security I have left… without them no one would ever know… no one but me. Her. Milo.

And just because I _am_ an ass, "How do you do it, anyway?" I ask.

"How do I do what?"

"Look at me – without getting sick, I mean."

I hear her take in a long, deep breath. It's like she's debating with herself whether or not to let me in on her little secret for staring a freak in the face…

"Come on, I'm a big boy. I can take the truth."

"I doubt that very much."

Now she has my attention – out of sheer, stupid, fucking habit, I turn my head in her direction. "Try me."

"Maybe another time. Right now I want to check for infection – then I'll give you something for the pain – but _only_ if you promise you'll have something to eat right after."

"I'll eat." Anger – resentment – pain. It's not just physical… I want to know how she does it – I _need_ to know. And she's not going to tell me. I think she's doing it just to piss me off.

I feel her fingertips, ever so gently touching the tissue around my eye sockets – and that's when I realize it's _me_ who wants to hurl. Every time Beth looks at my uncovered face – every time she touches me – I want to puke my fucking guts out… and yet she is so – calm. Professional.

_Detached. _

Maybe that's it – that's how she does it – that's what she doesn't want to tell me.

How detached she really is.

_Nurse._

_Patient._

I'm nothing to her – just some guy who showed up and puked in her petunias on the Day of the Dead… she pulled out a few bullets and patched me up, just like any good doctor would do.

"Everything looks all right, but I'm going to give you an oral antibiotic after you've eaten just to be on the safe side. You ever take amoxicillin before?"

"I don't know – what does it look like?" I struggle to keep my own tone as cool. Detached. Professional.

I_ am_ professional. It's just that Beth and I are on opposite ends of the spectrum – opposite sides of the scale. But, friends, it's all about balance… so I guess for every me, there has to be a Beth. There has to be someone to make the world a better place, a little ray of sunshine for every dark corner.

"Giant blue horse pill," she tells me.

"Yeah. I've had those. No adverse reaction," I report curtly. "Can I have my glasses back now, please?"

I hear a very soft sigh out of her – then I feel her fingers on my cheek… and I would like to tell you that I don't react at all, but that would be a lie. Her touch is so – warm. Tender. It's like… like I don't know what. Like a ray of sunshine, I guess – but I know how fucking stupid that sounds. I swallow hard and try to fathom what it is she's checking for, as I struggle against the urge to lean into her warmth. She strokes my face for a moment more – then I find the glasses being placed in my hand.

"Thank you," I tell her. My tone is dark – even shoving the glasses back onto my face doesn't make me feel any better about the Universe in which I live.

"There's a half a bottle of water on the table – I want you to finish it," she says – her voice sounds – sad?

I feel her pressing four oblong pills into my hand. Vicodin. Without a word, I pop the pills into my mouth and reach for the water – I chug the whole bottle back in one great big swig.

The rest of the afternoon goes by just as swimmingly. For lunch, Beth serves up last of last night's dinner – chili con carne. She is an amazing cook. It's not just her pibil, every thing she's made has been just incredible…

She sends Milo and I out onto the veranda but doesn't join us – and I wonder if I really have managed to piss her off this time – it does occur to me that I was dishing up more shit than she deserves. Beth has truly been nothing but wonderful to my sorry ass… I don't deserve her.

Milo, wisely, allows me to stew in silence while we eat. I listen to the sounds of the world passing me by – traffic two streets over – someone honks their horn – but it's a quiet day. The water fountain trickles merrily (I asked Beth to describe it to me the other day and she had me go up and feel it for myself… it's this horny little Greek goat-man – and I do mean horny. There's a naked chick next to him – she holds a vase out of which the water pours…)

After we've both finished, Milo takes our bowls back inside – I feel like an fucking invalid, just sitting here, being waited on… I'm just lighting up a cigarette wondering what's taking him so fucking long, when I hear the garden gate open – ok, no gunshots. No shouting men… only small feet on cobblestone. "Just getting home from school?" I ask Cicily.

"Uh-huh."

"Have a good day?"

"I hate math."

"Oh?" I don't really know what to say – it just seems like I should say something. Mostly our interactions have been limited to her reading to me…

"We started doing adding with big numbers and I keep getting mixed up," she tells me, stepping closer.

"You'll get it – I know you're a smart kid." I don't really know what I'm doing, how to talk to a child - but she is a smart kid.

I imagine her smile – I kinda wish I knew what she looked like… although I picture her as a younger version of her mother - utterly angelic.

"Are you feeling better today?" She asks.

"A little better, yes."

"I'm glad."

And then I hear the backdoor open – heavy footfalls – Milo.

"Hello there," he says. "You must be Cicily."

So – he and Beth have been talking… why does that bug me? "Cicily, this is my friend Senor Givens," I tell her.

Unlike me, Milo is good with kids. He walks right up to her – probably holds out his hand and smiling while he's at it – no wait, I'll be he actually kneels down to be eye to eye with her… eye to eye. Like I'll ever be eye to eye with anyone or anything ever again…

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Cicily," he says in the kind of friendly tone I've never quite been able to master. (My friendly tone is reserved for ladies over the age of consent… not that that is ever going to be an issue again… fuck… I _am_ in a sour mood…)

"Hello," Cicily answers in an equally friendly tone. "You're American."

"That I am. So are you."

"Uh-huh – but we live here now – so we're sort of like Mexican."

I hear Milo's amused chuckle – I may not have any idea what Cicily really looks like – but I'll bet a big bottle of tequila and a fat juicy lime that she does not look Mexican. Milo however, good sport that he is, agrees that yes, that does indeed make her sort of Mexican…

Then Beth calls Cicily into the house – and I listen as the child scampers off.

Milo resumes his seat, "She's a cutie."

"I wouldn't know."

"Sorry."

I wave it aside – between the food and the pills, I no longer want to put a bullet through my skull at least. "I'm beginning to realize just how sight oriented we humans are. Expressions like 'see you later' or 'see what I'm saying' – even a simple 'oh, I see.' And how many people start sentences with 'look' or 'see here' – or end them with 'you see?' It doesn't make any sense when you think about it. I mean, how can you _see_ what someone is saying anyway – we talk with words – and spoken word is something you _hear_, not see. We _understand_ with our minds – but we relate all these things to 'seeing'. And that, my friend, is just totally fucked up."

"It is," he agrees. "You know – Jeff – when this is over – even after we get whoever sabotaged you – your career is still over."

"No shit, Sherlock."

A long silence settles over us. I use it to mull over the last few weeks, before it all went south – that last conversation with Collins, where the little turd hung up on me… and it was Collins who gave Ajedrez the all clear when I asked for a background check… and come to think of it, he'd been acting a little squirrelly ever since then… "I think we should start with Dan Collins," I pronounce aloud. "I'm pretty sure it goes up at least as high as Suarez," I add and give him the quick and dirty of what went down in Bogotá four/five years ago – it, too, involves me and somebody else's money… hey, do you honestly have any idea what a CIA Officer makes? Not enough, let me tell you – and while I'm no frigging Robin Hood, I really do only rob from the bad guys. Well… ok, I'm the bad guy. I only rob from the worse guys. "My best guess is that Suarez is using Collins to do her dirty work – and probably won't hesitate to burn him too – so maybe that'll give us a little leverage against the little turd. Because I really cannot imagine anything I've done that was – radical – enough for Collins to go and try to get me killed. I may have a small body count – but my bottom line is always good – I always get the job done. And what the fuck, it's Mexico – who's even going to notice an extra corpse – or three."

"Do you remember Eros Island?" Milo asks out of the blue.

"What?" Was he even fucking listening to me?

"That resort in the Caribbean."

"Yes – I know what it is," I tell him – and_ yes_, I sound just as peeved as you might imagine I sound. Because yes, of course, I remember the place, it's just that it has abso-fucking-lutly _nothing _to do with what's going on in my life at this very moment – and therefore, I don't care.

Eros Island was – almost ten years ago? No – no, more like eleven – that's right – because Holly dropped her little bomb on my ass just before I got shipped down to Ecuador. Man what a shit hole… makes this place look fucking civilized (you know, just _once_ I'd like to go somewhere like – I don't know – somewhere that you can drink the water right from the tap and where hotel rooms don't come with complimentary mosquito nets. I know, there was Fucks-it-stan-okov… finally some place with a climate I could handle, if only the natives hadn't been so darned ornery…)

However… eleven years ago, Ecuador – I met up with Milo for the first time since Langley…I cut him in on a small bonus I'd arranged for myself (I needed his help with a couple of the little details…) And Eros Island is location of that resort I let him take me to. They built it on the site of an old Spanish Naval base and colony – gorgeous place, full of eighteenth century architecture (what didn't think I was capable of appreciating such things? Well… I used to be… you know, when I could see… One summer Alison and I visited just about every old historical building in three states… I was in college, she was still in high school… like I said, once upon a time, we were almost close. I like to think that that summer had something to do with her going into architecture...)

But back to the here and now… "Yeah, I remember the Eros Island. I remember it well enough that it's the last time _you_ book our destination."

Milo chuckles. "Hey, I found you the _one_ resort that does a pig roast every single night. I figured it was a fair compromise."

"Well, I suppose as vacations go, it could have been worse," I admit. The food was grand (although not quite worth killing over) and the rum was even better. We had an ocean side suite – the hotel was up on this cliff that jutted out right over the water. The beach wasn't more than a ten minute walk away and the weather was tolerable… I've never been terribly fond of heat (I'd rather be stationed in Alaska, spying on the Rooskies from our side of the channel. Oh please, don't tell me you buy into the hype about the cold war being over. It's not over, it just went underground.)

"Remember that late night walk on the beach?" Milo asks.

I'm still trying to figure out what that has to do with this. "Would that be before or after the night of _way_ too much rum, there, Sugar Butt?"

That gets me a full-blown laugh out of him. "After. I remember how nervous I was when I said I was going to go take a walk and you grabbed you shirt and said you'd come keep me company."

"What did you think – I was going shoot you?" I ask him.

"It crossed my mind."

And _that _gets a laugh out of me, "You're far too much fun to play with – I'd never kill you." Of course, that's a lie – and I'm pretty sure we both know it – but he refrains from commenting.

There's another long silence. I seriously hope Milo's gotten his mind back to the task at hand – because as much fun as this stroll down memory lane might be under other circumstances (preferably accompanied by strong spirits), I really just want to go about the business of finding out who's out to kill me this time–so I can start planning some creative revenge.

"Remember – we wandered onto the public beach – and there was that family sitting around a bonfire?"

So much for wishful thinking. "I was a little pre-occupied scoping out the college chicks," I tell him, "But yeah, I remember." Girls in bikinis – now that is something I am sorely going to miss being able to see... We humans really are visual creatures…

"You asked if I'd ever wondered what it was like to be normal."

"And you managed not to take it the wrong way – I was so pleased," I tease him – although truthfully, I'm about at the end of my tether with this little conversation, even if the light _has _finally gone on inside my head and I know why we're mucking around in the past instead of forging headlong into battle. Or maybe it's the reason for the mucking that is really pissing me off...

Milo's answer that night had been that men like us don't have normal lives – we wouldn't know what to do with them. And that's when I told him about Holly… maybe it was the rum – maybe it was just that, what the Hell, I knew his 'big secret' – so I figured he was a safe enough recipient for one of mine (and it's not like my 'secret' would hurt my career if it got out any more than his would.) Maybe I just really fucking needed to talk to someone because I was still feeling a little raw inside – because I really would have stepped up to the plate sooner, if she'd given me half the chance. I didn't want to play Daddy – Holly and I had already played house, I knew it would never work. I just wanted to be better than my old man had been. I just wanted to contribute to the care and feeding of my own kid.

I stamp out my cigarette. "Milo – the only thing I ever did that has made Holly _happy_ was when I promised to stay out of her and Emma's lives. So, I just do not see her welcoming me back now – even under exigent circumstances." Hell, she's probably married and living happily ever after somewhere. With any luck at all, she's managed to forget all about me.

"I wasn't talking about Holly, Jeff."

And for several very long moments, I just don't know what to say. It feels sort of like the world is bottoming out… I cannot possibly have heard what I think I just did. Milo's been here – two hours? Maybe three? And he's trying to suggest what exactly?

Finally I find my voice and respond in the only way I know how. With a very sharp tongue. "Could you do me a favour, there Dr. Phil – let's just worry about who's behind this," I point up at my face, "And then I'll figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life once I think I'm actually going to _have_ one."

"I'm just saying –"

"I know what you're saying. Now can we please just drop it and get down to business?"

I hear him take a deep breath – _just fucking drop it already…_

"It's getting late – here," Milo tosses something into my lap.

I know what it is before even placing my hands around it.

"I've programmed my number in – just hit menu – big round button –"

As he's talking, I'm flipping the phone open and feeling the buttons – I nod that I've got it.

"Then one on the key pad. Any other numbers you want programmed?"

"No – unfortunately I had to kill my favourite little stool pigeon rather recently and I haven't gotten around to replacing him yet." I don't regret offing Belini, arrogant little ass-wipe that he was. I'm just pissed about the inconvenience of the situation. He was a damned good stool pigeon.

I imagine Milo shaking his head, possibly even rolling his eyes at me. "All right. I'm going to go do some digging – I'll call you in a couple of days whether I've found anything useful or not."

Swell. Two days with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs.

And stew.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

ps – yes, I'm having a bit of sport with veiled (and not so veiled) references to some of Depp's other films… admittedly playing a bit of mix 'n match... ;)


	11. A Kiss Good Night

Thou art the pilgrim's path, the blind man's eye,

The dead man's life. On thee my hopes rely…

– Excerpt from a poem by

John Wilmot

-----------------------------------

**Chapter Ten:**

_A Kiss Good Night…_

With Milo's words ringing in my ears, I make my way back into the kitchen. I hear a pencil scratching against paper – Cicily at the table doing her homework – and a knife slicing through – hmm, some sort of vegetable – the steel blade taps against a wooden cutting board... I wonder what Beth is making for dinner.

"Chicken Cacciatore," she answers my unasked question in an absent sort of way.

One of these days I'm going to ask her how she does that… however, as her tone is still just a little chilly, so I turn my attention towards the table, "How's the homework coming?" I ask Cicily.

The child lets out the sort of sigh that only an exasperated child can make – I manage to keep my snicker to myself (mostly because I remember making that sound a time or two myself – Cicily and I, it seems, have something in common. Math was always my Achilles heel as well – although I _can_ "add big numbers without getting all mixed up.") I'm just contemplating the wisdom of offering my assistance when...

"Why don't you take that out to the garden to finish up," Beth says to her daughter.

Ut-oh. This bodes not well...

I listen to Cicily scoop her work up and head out the door; I take a seat at the table and light up a cigarette.

"Coffee?" Beth asks me.

"Love some."

"Your friend gone?"

I just nod – unlike me, Beth can still see simple body language.

"When will he be back – do you know?"

"He's going to call me in a couple of days. So – I should be out of your hair real soon." Which of course, _should_ make her happy. Only it doesn't seem to.

Beth sets the cup down by my left hand – I can feel the warmth of the liquid inside through the ceramic. It seems to be the only warm thing in this room right now. "Handle's at seven," she tells me.

"Thank you." And then there is silence. Hmmm…. "I can leave sooner if you need me to," I offer tentatively; I'm sure I could persuade Milo to get me checked into an out of the way motel somewhere – all things considered, it might be better than staying here...

"I told you, you can stay as long as you like."

What the Hell is that in her tone…? Fuck, I am just not a people person. Thinking back on it, I honestly don't know how Holly and I made it through a whole summer together… granted, that was sixteen years ago… "Would you just tell me what's wrong so I can address it already?" I suppose my tone is a little sharper than it needs to be… "You've got me dancing on razor blades and I don't like it – if you want me out, just fucking say so."

"I don't mean to put you – on razor blades," she tells me. "And – if I'd wanted you out, I would have said so."

"So what is it?"

I hear her sigh – she's probably shaking her head – maybe folding her arms across her chest... "It's nothing, Sands," she says at last

Don't tell me she finally went and ratted me out to someone…? Fuck me if that wouldn't be timing… "It isn't nothing. Come on – don't leave me guessing here, Beth. I tend to jump to all the worst conclusions."

More silence. I drink my coffee. She can't have finally done it... she wouldn't... she couldn't... not my angel...

Finally – and not a moment too soon because I think I am less than ten seconds away from seriously loosing it – Beth finds her voice again: "I – have something for you. A bunch of somethings, really."

"You – have something – for _me_?"

"I'm not sure you're going to like it – and don't go getting all paranoid on me."

I can't stopthe small smile from forming on my lips– she knows me too darned well. "So what is it then?"

I listen – it sounds like she's lifting a box onto the table in front of me.

"I hope you didn't wrap it – because let me tell you, the effort would be a big waste."

Her chuckle is soft, "No. It isn't wrapped – it's just a plain cardboard box. Reach in and feel around."

"Nothing's going to bite me is it?" I'm mostly teasing…

"Only thing that bites around here is me."

"Oh really, now, Darlin'?" And I start to feel the comfort returning…

She just laughs, "Just – feel."

Playfully, I grope in her direction – I'm not particularly surprised when she directs my hand back towards the box, rather loudly clearing her throat.

"Hey, you didn't say _what_ you wanted me feel up."

And I know she's shaking her head at me…

I reach into the box… my hand wraps around the folded up cane – I don't know why it's so easy to identify, but it is… and at least I know why she was so pensive. She knows how I'm going to react to this.

"I know you don't like to admit it, but you're going to need that," she tells me. "And the sooner you start learning how to use it the better."

Well… She's right. I don't like it.

And she's right about that other thing too. I'm going to need it to navigate the big ugly world… still – it could end up giving an advantage in the long run. People have a way of ignoring the handicapped – a way of discounting the abilities of the blind… kind of like the way the guys I work with down here always assuming that just because I never spoke Spanish around them, I didn't know their language at all. Truth is I speak several languages quite fluently – and Spanish is the first one I learned, thank you La Senora Whipple, high school Spanish teacher extraordinaire.

"There is more," Beth tells me.

All right – I set the cane aside for the moment. The next thing my hands come to – glasses?

"They're just as dark as the ones you have on – but feel the arms," she tells me.

I do – the arms curl at the ends, to fit snugly around the ears. The lenses are curved, too – offering better protection from nosey onlookers. I smile. "Thank you," I tell her. And I realize that this woman has been the recipient of more sincerity out of me than just about anyone I know.

Her voice is soft – sweet. "Keep going – you're not done yet."

"There's _more_?"

"There's more."

This is better than Christmas… I feel around – a bottle of …decidedly masculine shampoo. "What, no more vanilla and flowers?" I tease her.

"I was in town anyway, and I thought you like something a little less girly."

I have to admit – I like the scent of this new stuff. I wonder if she took a whiff of my cologne to get an idea of what I like. (Musk and sandalwood, in case _you_ were wondering.) "It is a bit of an improvement, yes," I tell her.

"There's still more," she says to me.

I reach into the box and fish out… a cloth …blind fold (like some people use to keep the light out of their eyes.) I hold it up by one finger, "Kinky – I didn't know you were into bondage and blindfolds," I favour her with my very _best_ lascivious grin

"It's for you – for sleeping," she tells me in a mildly exasperated tone – but I can hear the smile behind it. "And this," she places something new in my hands, "Is a talking clock. Press this button –" she directs my fingers to a large square button… I like the way her hands feels on mine...

"Cinco y doce," announces a tinny mechanical voice.

"Spanish language was all I could find," Beth apologizes.

"That's all right, I'm perfectly proficient."

"It has an alarm feature – here," she shows me how to work the alarm. It's pretty basic, really...

"You really are an angel, Beth." _My angel._

She just laughs and tells me that there's still more.

I find… a book – a very big book with a heavy spiral binding. "I'm not sure how much use I'm going to be able to make out of this, Sugar Butt."

"Open it."

I lay thing flat in front of me, mindful of my coffee cup and flip it open.

"Touch. _The page_." Beth adds with an audible grin.

I snicker back at her – but I let my hand slide over the page – raised bumps. "Braille?"

"Very good. That's the alphabet," she says.

And then… I hear her moving – the jingle of bangles – the rustle of fabric (I picture her in this long flowey skirt) – and she's standing behind me, leaning right over my shoulder. She puts her hand over mine – and I can't fucking breathe. Her fingers guide mine over the first set of bumps. Her breath is warm and moist in my ear… "A. B. C. D…" and so on… "The next few pages are your basic Dick and Jane stories – with the words printed so I can help you learn to read."

And for the second time today I'm utterly speechless – I'm not quite sure if it's her very close proximity – or just… let's just say that I'm not real used to people being nice to me. It's not something I go home and cry over – I'm not a nice guy. I don't expect anyone to go out of their way for me – quit to the contrary, I'm rather used to people going out of their way to make my life more difficult. But before my inability to respond makes me feel any more awkward, she places something else into my hands...

"What's this?" I ask. It's about the size and heft of my Beretta – and it has a kind of gun-like handle – but it's no firearm…

"It's a labeler that makes tags in Braille – I can show you how to use it. It'll help make your life a little easier – once you're back home. You can even get a Braille type writer and there are all kinds of voice programs for computers now."

"I wish I knew what to say – Beth – I –"

I can almost hear her smile, "De nada, Cowboy."

She gets up and – seems to be going back about the business of fixing dinner…

I go over the Braille alphabet a couple more times – and as I'm putting everything back into the box, my hand slides up against something else… I lift it out… feels like… a jewel case? Like for a CD. "What's this?"

Beth turns – again, I hear the jingle and rustle, "Oh – nothing." Her tone is very odd.

"Well it must be something – I can feel it," I favour her with a smile as I try to figure out what she's up to.

"It's just – something – so you don't forget your favourite nurse, when you're back stateside."

"So what is it?"

"Nothing."

"Beth – give me a break already. I can tell it's a CD case – what's in it?"

"I told you I used to be a musician. It's just – something I did with the girls – about a million years ago. It's not the best quality recording –"

"You're on a CD?"

"With three other women," she insists, hastily.

"But – this thing was for sale somewhere, right?"

She chuckles, "We sold about a thousand copies – unfortunately I let the girls talk me into being in the picture with them – that's how Neal found me – a friend of his saw it somewhere. It didn't take him long to track me down after that. So I ran – and ended up here."

"Is your picture on this copy?"

"It's not the best –"

"Which one are you?"

"What?"

"Come on – when people ask me where I got that it, I want to be able to point you out to them."

"Sands –"

"Come on – fess up – which one is you – and no fair lying to the blind man," I warn her. "If I think you're not telling me the truth, I will not hesitate to ask Cicily to confirm your story."

She's giggling, "Ok – ok – there are four women, standing shoulder to shoulder, and I am on the far left. I'm the only bond – and I'm wearing a blue bodice."

"Bodice?" Oh the images that creates in my mind…

"Bodice," she repeats the word. "You know, nice snug thing that laces up in all the right places – does wonders for your posture but is Hell in hotter than seventy degree weather."

"Ok – now I _gotta_ hear this – where's the CD player?"

"It's probably not even your taste in music –"

"It's got you singing, right?"

"We all sing – but yes – I there are a couple of songs where I'm singing lead."

"Than it's my taste – CD player."

She sighs – I think she's beginning to regret this – but I'm having fun.

"Take my arm," Beth says. "And use the cane – you might as well start getting the hang of it."

I'm not going to let anything ruin my good mood – so without any fuss at all, I unfold the thing – and take a couple of experimental swipes through the air with it.

I hear Beth jump out of the way, "That is _not _a weapon, Sands!" she yelps at me.

"Everything is a weapon, Darlin'." And I begin wondering where I can get something custom made…

She just sighs, "Place the end _on the floor_ – nice easy sweeping motions. Not that far – gently!" She warns as I tap rather hard into the wall. "And not so fast – the idea is to actually feel your way as you go."

"Right."

I already have a fairly good idea of the layout of her living room – but I have to admit, using the cane helps me avoid that stupid footstool that always jumps out and kicks me in the shins.

"Ok – CD player is right in front of you – set the cane aside – two steps – now – tap the thingy to open it."

"Thingy, Sugar Butt?"

"Sorry," her blush is audible. "The – door. You know, where the CD goes in."

I feel around – finding the door isn't particularly difficult – one light tap and it slides open. I set the disk into onto the – hmm, what do you call that thing? Well, at any rate, I'm sure you know how to work a CD player. "Ok now what?"

"If you push play – first button to the left, it'll close and start playing. But – I should warn you – the last three 'bonus tracks' at the end that are a little risqué – well – probably not by your standards."

"And just what, my dear, do you think my standards are?" I ask with a wicked grin – because no matter how tame her version of risqué turns out to be, I think my image of Beth is about to be altered…

"If you reach down by your feet – bottom shelf there – you'll find a set of head phones – do me a favour and use them."

"Could I have some help plugging them in – in my current state, I might hit the wrong hole – and in my experience that can make a lady just a wee bit cranky."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, gets me hit. At least she hits the good arm – and I get the feeling she could have socked me a lot harder if she'd wanted to… I feign great pain and suffering anyway. "What was that for?"

"You know perfectly well what that was for, Officer Sands," her blush (and smile) are audible.

However, she does plug in the headphones before extracting herself from the room in what I think I'm supposed to believe is a huff. I doubt she thinks she's fooling anyone.

Chuckling merrily to myself, I park my butt on the floor and find the button on the CD player that will skip through the songs – the first thing I want to hear are these risqué tunes…

I must tell you that after listening to the rather – umm – _precise_ language in a little ditty called _the Bastard King of England_, I have quite a new prospective on my sweet little angel. The accompanying mental image includes a blue bodice that I'm very sure is very snug and good for improving more than just her posture… (some of my favourite flicks have been period pieces… yours truly is rather fond of the look of snug garments that lace up to show off a woman's best assets. The fact that the skirts are long doesn't bother me – in fact, there is something extraordinarily sexyabout a woman revealing just the right amount of flesh… give me a girl in a pair of tight blue jeans and a cotton blouse buttoned down to reveal the just top of the mound of her breast…one more thing I'm never going to see… but… I wonder what a bodiced body would _feel _like…)

However, because Cicily is present at the dinner table, I refrain from asking Beth if she still has that bodice of hers lying around somewhere… not that I have any doubts that such a request would get me slapped.

After the evening meal, I help with the dishes (I'm rather glad Milo isn't around at this point – I don't need him making any more clever suggestions to me. I'm just being a good houseguest – and – maybe I am a little too comfortable around her… but it's not like we're playing house. I'm nothing more to her than a patient. In a few days I'll be gone and Beth can resume the normal life I'm sure she's anxious to get back to…)

After we've cleaned up the kitchen, Cicily follows me into the bedroom – and crawls up into the bed with me so we can continue with _Peter Pan_. I've become almost accustomed to having the child sitting next to me – although I never quite know what to do when she does that snuggle thing. Fortunately, Cicily seems to understand my discomfort and makes no issue of it – she just tucks my arm around her shoulders and reads – and seems perfectly happy. Strange, strange women in this family…

I lean back against the headboard and listen as the story unfolds in a way I never thought a story could… when I was growing up, it was me reading to Alison – Mom just didn't have the time.

… "All right, time for bed," Beth calls to Cicily from the doorway, some while later.

"Aww, we were just getting to a good part," she complains.

"Now – do as your mother says," I tell her in a gentle tone. One must be gentle with children… and as more pieces of the puzzle of Beth's past fall into place – I get the feeling that Cicily has seen enough dis-quiet in her life. One thing I do remember about being a child: children are clever. They hear a lot more than we adults give them credit for. I knew all about my parents' problems, long before my old man split – and even though my mother never told me, I know he left us for his secretary. Yeah, I know, how fucking stereo typical can you get, right? He is truly a man without imagination.

"Since you're feeling better – will you tuck me in?" Cicily asks me, unexpectedly. She has not made such a request before – nor has she even hinted at it. I think my momentary panic must be showing…

"Cicily – Senor Sands is a guest here. A patient," Beth is quick to my rescue.

"He can be a friend and a patient."

"Cicily –"

I manage to recover my wits, "I don't mind," I say quietly – and… I guess I really don't. I mean – how hard can it be? – you shove the blanket around the kid and say something cute about nocturnal insects not gnawing them to death in their sleep...

_Christ on a crutch_ – I'm kidding ok? Remember, it was _me_ taking care of my little sister when we were kids. Mom was always working late, so it fell to me to make sure Alison got her homework done, that she'd packed a lunch for school (and that butter between two pieces of bread did not constitute a real sandwich). I made sure she had clean cloths for morning and that she brushed her hair and teeth before bed – and I tucked her in almost every night for quite a few years without leaving any gaping emotional scars. Sheesh.

Cicily – as you might imagine – doesn't give her mother the chance to put the kibosh on my willingness – she jumps up and grabs my hand and I have to remind her that I'm only a little better, not all better.

"Sorry."

"That's ok – just take it easy with me," I smile down at her.

Walking at a more sedate pace, Cicily leads the way to her room; Beth brings up the rear, and I hope it's just in case I need an emergency rescue. I'd like to think that I've earned at least a_ little_ trust. I may not like kids, but I really don't eat small children for breakfast…

I listen as Cicily brushes her teeth and then her hair – then she takes my hand again and leads me to her bed. After she's crawled in, I find the covers and pull them up just under her chin.

It's only when a pair of tiny arms reach up and pull me down into a hug that I feel helplessly out of my depth… and off balance… those gunshot wounds in my thighs are less than two weeks old, people. (And I'm more than just a little worried about the glasses slipping off the edge of my nose, as I have yet to switch them for the new ones Beth got for me.) I fumble the glasses back into place with one hand and try to catch myself with the other – without falling onto Cicily in the process...

Fortunately, Beth is quick with that rescue, helping me get my balance back.

"Sorry," Cicily squeaks.

"It's ok," I tell her – mostly I'm just – I just don't know quite what to do when a child likes me. "You just have to remember – I can't see and my balance isn't so good these days. Getting better takes time."

"I'm glad you're getting better here."

Swell – they can _both_ render me speechless…

"Good night, Senor Sands," Cicily says then, as I begin to make my egress.

"Good night, Cicily," I manage what I think is an age-appropriate friendly smile.

Wordless, Beth guides me back to my room… "Thank you," she says at the thresh hold.

"For?"

"It doesn't take a genius to tell you're a little out of your element when it comes to children. I appreciate your humouring her."

I shrug, "De nada."

Beth chuckles.

I imagine how pretty her smile must be... "Where did you come up with the name Cicily?" I ask. I don't know if it's true curiosity – or that I'm just not ready to say good night to her.

"It's – kind of ironic."

"Oh?" I nod towards the bedroom – the hand on my arm seems to nudge forward – yes, she'll follow me… we sit down on the bed – I lean up against the head board and I feel Beth recline next to me, her head (propped up on one elbow) at my feet. Now there is a very brave woman, folks…

I drape my arm over her legs. They're smooth – her skin is soft to my touch – her feet are bare (and apparently not as ticklish as her jaw)… and I was right, she's wearing a long silk skirt… "So how is it ironic?" I ask after we've gotten ourselves comfortably arranged.

"My cousin moved to a little town called Cicely – with an 'e' instead of two 'i's' – fifteen years ago, now, I think. It was named for one of its founding mothers. Anyway, when Maggie told me the story – I thought it was one of the prettiest names I'd ever heard. So when I got pregnant – I knew that's what I wanted to name my daughter."

"What if you'd had a son?"

"Devlin – after my grandfather. Neal didn't like either name – but I managed to get the forms filled out while he was out 'celebrating' with his brothers."

And the more I hear about this Neal, the less I like him… still, "It doesn't sound like a very ironic story."

"It only got ironic when you showed up."

"Oh?"

"St. Cicily is the patron saint of musicians. And blind men."

And once again – though I don't have eyelids, I just want to blink – because I can't think of any other response. Or at least none that I think I want to share…

"I guess that must sound – almost a little crazy," Beth says –she sounds nervous.

"No – I'm just afraid you'd take it the wrong way if I told you – what – a – what that kind of irony – that reminds me of."

"Try me."

Hmmm… "Make you a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"I asked you a question earlier that you refused to answer. You answer me and I'll answer you."

"Sands –"

I can tell by her tone that I've crossed over into dangerous territory… not the kind of dangerous territory I was in when I grabbed her… no, this is different. I'm not sure different how… but… I know the water is murky here… "Yes or no," I tell her. "And no hard feelings either way."

I hear her take a long breath – and let it out again, slowly. "Will you go first?" she asks.

"You are really determined to make me trust you, aren't you?"

Beth laughs, "That wasn't actually my intent – but yes, I am."

"All right. You just have promise me you won't take this the wrong way."

"Scout's honour," she says – she's smiling.

"Not good enough," I tell her – I'm grinning… but….

Beth sits up, pulling her legs away from me– although now she's sitting with her butt up against my legs, so it's not such a bad trade… "All right. Serious. On my mother's womb, I will endeavour not misconstrue whatever it is you're going to say."

"Ooh – big words," I tease her. (Ok, I'm stalling. You know it. I know it. She knows it.)

"Very funny. Out with it – or the deal's off."

"There are times when you remind me just a little bit of my daughter's mother," I spit it out as quickly as I can.

Silence.

"You promised –"

"The good times or the bad ones?"

"Darlin' – the only good times were between the sheets – the bad times were all the rest."

"So I take it I remind you of the bad times."

I am fairly certain she's smiling… but damn, her tone is hard to interpret. "That's not what I meant. Holly would love that CD you gave me – although I have no plans to share it with her or anyone else. She believes in stuff like Karma – providence – and she'd probably like you – although I'm afraid to think what she'd tell you about me."

"For someone who was a part of your life so long ago, she still seems to mean an awful lot to you," there's that tone again… or one of them. It's – soft. Sad? Thoughtful? It's almost as if Beth is talking as much to herself as to me.

I shrug, "She mothered my child. Even if it took her four years to get around to telling me about it – that still has to count for something."

"Do you ever think of getting in touch with them? Especially now –"

Great – either she's been talking to Milo – or they have both come up with the same idiotic notion, independent of one another. I tell her the same thing I told him.

At least her response is completely different, "Sands – maybe the best thing you did for Holly was to stay out of her life – but what about Emma? Don't you think she deserves to know you? You're her father."

I almost laugh, "You have got to be kidding. You don't have to know me any better than you do to know that answer to _that_."

"I just know that having Cicily to love – having her love me – that was the _only thing_ that got me through the darkest parts of my life. There is nothing more precious to a parent than their child."

"Which is why mine'll never know me."

"You're making a mistake."

And for half a second I'm pissed. Really pissed… I count silently to ten. "You don't know me," I finally tell her – my temper is only just barely reigned in… the subject of Emma will always be a sorepoint – or does Beth actually think I like it that I've never even seen my own kid, not face to face… And I neverwill**_see_** her... Holly can send me pictures of Em 'til the cows come home, it just won't matter… and I haven't even seen the last three years' worth of them… because I didn't bother to get my frigging mail forwarded...

"I'm sorry. I know – I overstep my bounds. That's why Neal hit me."

"Oh no you don't," I say to her – and I'm pissed all over again, but for entirely different reasons.

"What?" I can hear just how startled she is by the vehemence in my tone.

"Don't you dare pin on me what that creep did to you. I may not be a nice guy – in fact I'm a lot bigger creep than he could ever be – but – " but I can't say I've never hit a woman – I can only say that I've never hit a woman who was a part of my personal life. The things I've done as a part of the job just don't count.

"Oh – Sands – no – I didn't mean it like! All men are_ not_ the same. I know that. I just mean that I know – I – say too much sometimes. And I know that's what got me hit. But – I know that you are _nothing_ like my husband."

"Fine. But don't you dare blame yourself for him hitting you, either." I tell her – it has not escaped my notice that she did not shove an 'ex' in front of that husband… so I was right. She just ran. That's ok… widows get benefits.

"But it is my fault. Neal wasn't the first person who ever – told me to just keep my mouth shut, mind my own business. I just never – learned – and – I thought – he'd known me when we were kids. I thought – he was different – but he – just wanted me to 'love, honour and obey – and when I couldn't – I guess he was willing to settle for fear, honour and obey."

"Beth – it is not your fault some guy used you for a punching bag. I don't care _what_ you said to him – what he did was wrong." I reach out for her – and I'm almost surprised when she grabs hold my hands and squeezes tight. _My_ hands, hands that are covered in so much blood… no, that's not a guilty conscious nagging at me (believe me, I look _forward_ to meeting up with this Neal in a cold dark alley some day.) It's just – that these hands have hurt so many people – and now someone is holding on to them for comfort… it's just weird.

"You know – it wasn't even the bruises that hurt – it was – I just – I never felt like I was good enough – I didn't think I could ever _be_ good enough. And that's all I ever wanted – just to – be good enough. Just to – to do the right thing – to help people. To make someone happy. And – I've just never been able to get it right."

I give a gentle tug and bring her closer – I really don't know what to do in the face of this kind of emotional avalanche – but I remember how good it felt when she held me in her arms… And she's not really crying – just – sniffling a little, so it's not so hard to be too close. I let my hands play in her hair…

"I'm sorry," Beth shifts away from after a while. "You probably – have – "

"Shhh," I cut her off – I have no idea what she was about to say, but… it doesn't matter. "Just think of this as – me returning the favour for you sitting with me last night – and the before that – and the night before that – get my drift, Darlin'?"

A very small laugh escapes her throat, "Fair enough Cowboy.But please – do me one favour – think about what I said before – about your daughter. Just think about it – that's all," she says quickly, as I open my mouth to protest. "My gut keeps telling me that you need each other – and – my gut is usually right."

I suppose there's no harm in telling her I'll think about it – so I nod. Then, "I just hope you don't think you're getting out of your end of the bargain."

"I made a deal. I just don't know if you're going to like the answer."

"Like I said – try me."

"You're more than the sum of your parts, Sands – you're – more than what was taken," she brushes a soft fingertip under the glasses, across the bridge of my nose – then right across each eyebrow, as if to prove to me that she really isn't bothered by she knows is there – or more to the point, what's not there. "You're more than – finely sculpted cheek bones or a firm jaw," her fingers caress my cheek and jaw – and I am finding it exceedingly difficult to breathe… "You're more than ears – more than a nose – more than lips. More than finger tips, more than hands," she takes my hand into hers and I feel the feather light touch of her fingers brushing over my palm, tracing out the deeply etched lines. "You're more than your past. When I look at you – I see – so much more than what's been lost." Beth lifts her hand to my face and brushes her finger tips along my cheek, as high up as she can without actually touching the healing tissue… "I _have _seen far scarier things in my life than what you keep hidden behind those dark glasses, of yours Sands," Beth tells me again.

And this time – I really believe her… "It's Sheldon," I say – and I can honestly tell you that I have no idea why I've just invited this woman to use my first name…

"Sheldon," she repeats it softly - and like the way it sounds. "It's getting late," she says, easing herself up from my side. "You should probably get some sleep."

"Yeah," I don't really know what else to do but agree…

Then Beth leans over and brushes her lips across my cheek… and I never would have thought a kiss on the cheek could be _so_ sensual.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

_I hold my breath as this life starts to take its toll  
I hide behind a smile as this perfect plan unfolds  
But oh, God, I feel I've been lied to  
Lost all faith in the things I have achieved  
And I _

_I've woken now to find myself  
In the shadows of all I have created  
I'm longing to be lost in you  
(away from this place I have made)  
Won't you take me away from me _

_Crawling through this world as disease flows through my veins  
I look into myself, but my own heart has been changed  
I can't go on like this  
I loathe all I've become _

_I've woken now to find myself  
In the shadows of all I have created  
I'm longing to be lost in you  
(away from this place I have made)  
Won't you take me away from me _

_Lost in a dying world I reach for something more  
I have grown so weary of this lie I live _

_I've woken now to find myself  
In the shadows of all I have created  
I'm longing to be lost in you  
(away from this place I have made)  
Won't you take me away from me _

_Evanescence_

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's notes:

More Depp movie references: The movie _Libertine _is (supposedly) due outlater this month (I have yet to see any adverts for it); in it, Johnny Depp plays the role of debauched poet John Wilmot.

And, yes… if anyone catches it, there is a tiny bit of cross over madness in this chapter… two reasons, the first of which is that when I was coming up w/ a name for Beth's daughter,"Cicely, Alaska" crossed my mind.So in that respect, my character is truly not lying about from whence the name comes. It was only later, when trying to chose one of the names on the list of possibilities, that I discovered that St. Cicily is the patron saint of musicians and blind men – which of course cinched the deal, so to speak.

Then, I was trying to figure out where on Earth a guy like Sands might go to live "happily ever after" (I hope no one expected me to end it any other way… ok, it crossed my mind, but then I had visions of unhappy readers with tar and feathers… ;) There's a deleted scene inOUaTiM where Sands comments that he would rather be in Alaska… and so… I figured what the heck. Cicely has Maggie O'Connell – and it didn't seem like too much of a stretch to have an O'Connell related to a McKinny… and so that is that story…

And finally, if anyone is really interested (or just plain curious) – and I am going to Warn You Now – the lyricsare um - _precise_… but here you have it, _the Bastard King of England..._

Although it's described as a "ballad," I've never heard it sung as anything but an up beat,"pub song." There are slight variations on the lyrics floating around, but the differences arealways _minor_ – literally, a word gets changed here or there, but it doesn't get any cleaner! (My recording of the song happens to be on a CD of favourite pub songs performed by Scott Hendricks, aka Axel the Sot – I mention this because he is an awesome performer and a very gracious man.) Ok, you have been duly warned!

**THE BASTARD KING OF ENGLAND**

_(Traditional English ballad)_

Oh, the minstrels sing of an English king  
Who lived long years ago,  
And he ruled his land with an iron hand,  
But his mind was weak and low.  
He used to hunt the royal stag  
Within the royal wood,  
But better than this he loved the bliss  
Of pulling his royal pud.

He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas.  
His terrible tool hung to his knees.  
God save the bastard king of England.

Now the Queen of Spain was an amorous dame,  
A sprightly dame was she,  
And she longed to fool with his majesty's tool  
So far across the sea.  
So she sent a royal message  
With a royal messenger  
Inviting the king to bring his ding  
And spend the week with her.

He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas.  
And he had his women by twos and threes  
God save the bastard king of England.

Now the King ofFrance heard by chance,  
And he swore before his court,  
"The queen prefers my rival  
Just because my prick is short."  
So he sent the Duke of Suffering Sap  
To slip the queen a dose of clap  
To pass it on to the bastard King of England.

He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas.  
His terrible tool hung to his knees.  
God save the bastard king of England.

When news of this foul, dastardly deed  
Reached fair Windsor Hall  
The king swore by the royal whore  
He'd have the Frenchman's balls.  
So he offered half his kingdom  
And the hole of Queen Hortense  
To any sod who'd bring him the rod  
And the nuts of the King of France.

He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas.  
And he had his women by twos and threes  
God save the bastard king of England.

So the loyal Duke of Essexshire  
Betook himself to France.  
When he swore he was a fruitier,  
The king took down his royal pants.  
Around Philip's dong he tied a thong,  
Leaped on his horse and galloped along,  
Dragging the poor Frenchman  
Back to merry England

He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas.  
His terrible tool hung down WAY DOWN_ PAST_ his knees.  
God save the bastard king of England.

Now the King of England saw the sight  
And fell in a faint to the floor,  
For during the ride, the Frenchman's pride  
Had stretched a yard or more.  
And all the maids of England  
Came down to London town,  
And shouted round the battlements,  
"To hell with the British crown."

So the Philip France usurped the throne.  
His sceptre was his royal bone.  
With which he beat the bastard King of England.


	12. Personal Questions

Midnightmuse – I never get tired of "I love it reviews"! I have this horrible insecurity about everything I write. So Thank you! I almost hate to admit this, but Sands' emotional blindness is inspired by my husband, from when we started dating (this last time around.) The comment that Sands must have pissed off a gypsy in a former life is something a friend once said of my husband and _his _horrible luck with relationships… and why it took him so long to admit that we were much more than just friends...

Lyra – thank you! Yes, Beth is going away but definitely coming back.

Captn-Jack's-Bonnie-Lass – thank you! It's always good to hear that the emotions are getting through… (this chapter isn't quite as bad… but I've got Chapter 12 in the rough… and…may I humbly suggest tissues near by.)

Quick, Glamis, Inuz – thank you, thank you, thank you! I truly appreciate your many, many kind words. It makes my day, it really does.

**Chapter Eleven:**

_Personal Questions_

I wake – and my little talking clock tells me that it's _diez y cincuenta y siete_. Ten Fifty Seven.

After Beth left me last night… left me thinking about… kisses and… all sorts of other things I probably shouldn't have been thinking about… I think it was almost five a.m. the last time I checked the time… but all things considered, six hours isn't bad – I've gotten by on a heck of a lot less in my life. My life… Christ, I don't want to think about that right now. Because – Milo's right – even if I somehow get through this, life as I know it is over… and what the Hell is a guy like me going to do as a civilian? I have no marketable skills – and no tolerance for my fellow human beings…

And I still can't get that kiss out of my head. I mean – it was _just _a kiss on the cheek… but… damn. All I can think of is what it might feel like to have those lips smothering mine…

Yeah, I know, who the Hell am I trying to kid, right? It was just a kiss on the cheek. It didn't mean anything. For Christ's sake, just look at me. What would a woman like Beth want with a guy like me anyway? I can't even make up for my disfigurement with a charming personality… we all know what kind of man I am.

_More then the sum of my parts… _right. I am just exactly what you see – no more, no less. I am a killer, ruthless in every way. No one cares about me and care about no one – one great big rock, just like that Simon and Garfunkle song...

Still stewing, I go about the usual business of the morning, then run a quick bath and dig out some cloths that I think smell clean. I have no idea what's what – but more than a few people of my acquaintance have commented that my wardrobe is so offensive, I doubt that anyone would even notice the difference, anyhow. At least now, I'll have an excuse for wearing a brown sport coat with a purple t-shirt…

The last thing I do is slide the new glasses into place – they're a perfect fit and with the way the arms loop, they should stay in place through just about anything. She really is an angel… which is why I know she'd never go for a guy like me. Even before – I never would have had a shot with a woman like Beth. "Sheldon Jeffrey Sands – you might just be the world's biggest fuckmook, I hope you know that," I say to the reflection I can't see.

Stepping forth from the bedroom, I smell the coffee. It smells fresh… but there are no sounds to suggest human habitation… ok, I'm jumpy. I go to my trunk – one of the Brownings comes to hand. That'll do, not too big, not too small – now, where did I put – ah – right there, shoulder holster. I slip into it and camouflage the whole affair with a button down shirt (it feels like one of my western style shirts. Cool. Just the thing to go with the shorts… wonder if they're the brown ones, the khaki, or the olive drab...?)

I make my way into the kitchen. Silence.

Now – I know Cicily is at school. "Beth?" _Come on, Darlin', no fair playing hide and seek with the blind guy... especially not when he's a paranoid little fuck like me… _I walk to the back door – "Beth?"

"Morning, Cowboy," I hear her voice from off in the 'garden' (Cicily has informed me that her mother's garden is quite large and very beautiful… not that I would have appreciated such a thing, even if I could see it. I can't tell the difference between a daisy and a marigold.)

I let out the breath I didn't quite realize I'd been holding. "Morning," I call back to her. And – I honestly can't tell you if I'm relieved she's still using her nickname for me – or disappointed that she hasn't called my by my given name since repeating it back at me.

"Why don't you grab a cup of coffee and come join me?"

It sounds like she's a good ten or fifteen yards from the veranda – off to the right… but more importantly, it doesn't sound as if there's some guy in a ski mask with a gun pointed at her head… yeah, I know, I'm paranoid. I only wish I'd been more paranoid a couple of months ago… even a couple of weeks ago…

"Can I bring you a cup?" I holler back to her, mostly because I just don't want to think about… anything.

"I don't know – can you carry two cups of coffee and a cane?"

I know she's smiling – but I don't like to be reminded that I actually need that thing – and maybe I _should_ have grabbed it as well as the gun… but… I just don't like it. Of course, I am also not one to shy away from a challenge. "Be right there, Sugar Butt," I chime back.

Oh well – I forgot my cigarettes anyway… so back to the bedroom my happy little ass goes…

…I pour the coffee (without burning my fingers – have you ever tried to pour coffee blind? It's a lot harder than you might think) – and realize something... I go back to the door, "Hey - Beth?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you put in your coffee?"

"You _are_ feeling generous this morning," I can hear her grinning at me. "About a teaspoon of honey. It's on the counter next to the coffee maker – probably to the left of it."

Honey? In coffee? Ok, she's weird. "Gotcha," I reply.

A little fumbling and I've found the honey (it was on the right) and a teaspoon… now, my sister waited tables all through college. She can probably still carry three cups in one hand with a stack of plates up the other arm, all without spilling a thing. I don't profess to possess quite that much dexterity… however, I do manage not to break either a mug or my neck getting the coffee outside.

"Ok – now what?" I call, as I try to determine exactly where I'm supposed to go.

"Over here – keep going straight – off the edge of the veranda there's a path – that'll lead you back to me."

The ledge of the veranda is only about an inch higher than the ground – cobblestone – ok… I can do this. Gentle swishing motions with the cane – not too far to either side (this is also a lot more difficult than you might think) – nice and slow… the cobblestones aren't too uneven… good thing, I'm barefooted. I_ never_ go barefooted, it's just not natural.

I follow the path of sun-warmed cobblestone as it curves around…

"Good Lord," Beth calls out, presumably when she sees me.

"Well I suppose I've been called worse. What am I wearing?"

"You might be better off if I don't tell you. Although I must say – you have some knobby knees there, Cowboy."

"I beg your pardon – I have very _nice_ legs."

"If you say so," she sounds dubious. "Hang on," she says, as I step off the path.

I wait – I hear her moving towards me– and then – "Which one is me?" She asks of the coffee cups.

"Left – your left."

Beth takes her cup and offers me her elbow.

I let her take the cane and guide me the rest of the way – she helps me settle onto the ground – there's a thick blanket lain out. Through it, I feel the roots of a tree – cautiously I lean back… My back comes into contact with a good sturdy feeling tree trunk; I let it take the rest of my weight. "What are you doing out here, anyway?" I ask.

"Digging up some jicama for one of my neighbours – she loves it but she can't seem to get it to grow. I'm the neighbourhood green thumb."

"You grow hiccups?"

"_Jicama._ It's a root – tastes a little like water chestnut -" her tone is one of mild exasperation.

I just smile. I've never been good at keeping anything alive. One of these days I really am going to have to ask Holly just what she saw in me… you guessed it – not only was she the back to Nature type, but she had to bring the Nature home with her, too. Her apartment was a regular jungle – only thing she was missing was Marlin Perkins.

Beth settles herself down next to me – I can feel the fabric of another one of those long skirts… and her legs brush up against mine (at which point I'm glad I opted for the shorts, even if she does think my knees are knobby. I kinda like the way she feels next to me… _fuckmook… _says my brain. It's referring to me. But I'll bet you guessed that already.)

"How're you feeling?" she asks me.

"I'll live."

"Well that's good – I'd hate to think I was going to loose a patient." Then – her tone changes – it's not just serious it's – that almost sad tone again. "Seriously, though, Sheldon – you're going to need _at least _another couple weeks under a doctor's care, although I'd feel better if you told me you were going to take it easy for another month or two."

_Sheldon. _I pull out my cigarettes and offer her one.

"Yes, please," she says…

I light both before I hand one over to her.

"You are in a mood."

"And that surprises you?"

"Let's just say it's not quite what I've come to expect from my favourite patient."

Favourite patient… I guess I can live with that. I take a long drag off my smoke, "I don't think taking it easy is something I'm going to be doing much of, there, Darlin'. Depending on what Milo finds out – I mean – you have to have guessed there's a reason I'm here and not in a hospital, right?"

"I had a feeling."

I just nod.

She doesn't press the issue.

I smoke my cigarette. I drink my coffee. I very much enjoy sitting next to her, especially when she shifts a little bit closer to me. "Can I ask you a personal question?" I ask after a bit.

"I already said you could ask me anything."

I hear the smile in her voice… but… "I'm serious."

"Of course you can," she says as she lays a hand on my knee; her fingers curl over it. I hear Beth put out her cigarette (I'm taking a wild guess, but I bet she pockets the butt. In the endeavour to be courteous, I do the same. Like I said, I do know _how_ to be polite, I just usually choose not to.)

I contemplate lighting another cigarette before going on – but decide to hold off. She seemed to get a little testy about my chain-smoking yesterday… "You – said – Neal wasn't the first man who ever – hit you." No, I'm not trying to be a prick here, folks. I minored in psychology and I want to know who taught this amazing woman that she could never be good enough. I want to know who gave her the notion that it was perfectly acceptable for some fucker to use her as his personal punching bag. I don't know that I plan to _do_ anything with the knowledge... I just want my curiosity satisfied.

I listen to her breathing for a few, long, moments… I rest my hand on top of hers – maybe I am being a prick. I'm about to tell her to forget I asked, when I feel her fingers stretch under my hand – and then she laces her fingers into mine. I swallow, just a little…

"My father."

Well that I hadn't expected – there was nothing in her tone when she spoke of him before to suggest he'd hurt her. Of course if I had the use of my eyes… there are times when being blind is just damned inconvenient. I give her hand a little squeeze – it just seems like the right thing to do – she responds by squeezing back.

"It wasn't what you think," Beth tells me in a soft – no, a _little_ voice. "He was just – trying to be a good father, trying to do what he thought was right – trying to make me a better person."

"With what – the back of his hand?" I'm kinda glad this creep is already dead.

"Belt. Usually. Sometimes it was just whatever came to hand."

My jaw clenches… I'm not a nice guy. I will do whatever I have to do to get the job done – and if you've been with me from the beginning, you know how much provocation it really takes for me to kill a man. No regret. No apologies. No going back. I don't have a particularly soft spot for kids – Hell, I don't even _like_ children – but… I still can't imagine just grabbing whatever came to hand and smacking my daughter around because I'd had a bad fucking day. I don't even _know_ my kid and I know I wouldn't hit her like that. Beth's old man knew her from day one – before day one, really – how could he possibly have hurt her – how could he let her grow into the kind of woman who would let other men hurt her? What kind of father does something so –_ irresponsible_?

"Spare the rod and spoil the child, right?" She says. "That's what the priest always told him, every time I got dragged into the confessional. It was a small town – kinda – backwater – in just about every way. Life was hard – we didn't have much – I'm one of – of – three. After Mom she died – Dad just didn't know what to do – not with any of us. But especially not with me. I never fit in."

"That's no excuse," I tell her; it hasn't escaped my notice that she hesitated on the number of children in the family.

"You don't understand."

"You're right – I don't." I light up another cigarette. "I'm not sure I want to."

"He was only doing what he thought was best – doing the best he could."

Why do I just not believe it. "How old were you when your mother died?"

"Nine. My little sister was only four – she kept asking when Mamma was coming back home – I finally had to explain to her that Mamma _wasn't_ coming back – Dad didn't have the words. Which – didn't make him any happier about the words _I_ chose. I've always been – the oddball," she lets out a little laugh. "And – Daddy was _so_ lost. Mom was more than his wife and our mother – she handled the whole house – he earned the money, but she made sure the bills got paid on time, she bought the groceries and cooked the meals – she did everything for him. For all of us."

"You were the oldest girl?" I hazard a guess.

"Yeah – but – it's a little more complicated than that. It was just a really bad year. Can I steal another cigarette?"

"Any time," I force a half a smile and fish out my pack. I took on the role of man of the house voluntarily. I figured someone had to do it – someone had to look out for Alison when Mom was at work – especially with guys like Chet around. But Mom never forced it on me – not the way I think Beth's old man must have forced it on her. At nine years old – and just because she was the girl. Christ. I hate the fucker and I don't even know him.

Beth takes the cigarette from my fingers – I hold my lighter carefully so she can get it lit.

"You really do know how to be a gentleman," she says, as she's getting it lit.

"I try."

"Well I imagine you _are_ very trying anyway," her grin is audible. "So – what about you, you have family or are you really the lone Cowboy?"

"My old man took off when I was six – he left me, my two year old sister and our Mother – a woman whose only aspiration in life had been to be a house wife and Mommy. She worked two, sometimes three jobs because the only things she could get didn't pay much. We still ended up moving around a lot. We didn't really settle in one place until I was – sixteen or seventeen, I think. Roanoke, Virginia."

"Did she ever remarry?"

I shake my head, "No. She – dated a little. Always the wrong men."

"My Dad didn't even date – Mom was the one true love of his life."

"I doubt my father knows what the words 'one true love' mean. He's probably on wife number four my now. I've never actually met him – but I like to keep tabs on people."

I hear her snicker, "I can imagine you doing that. Is your mother still alive?"

"She died – four / five years ago – heart attack. Her health hadn't been very good the last little while – at least that's what my sister told me."

"I take it you didn't see much of them?"

"I – never had the time. When Mom died, I was sort of up to my short and curlies in something and missed the funeral. I don't think Alison – that's my sister – has forgiven me. But I honestly only would have been in the way."

"That's not the point, Sheldon. There are some things you just do."

Which is almost exactly what Alison told me – although Beth says it considerably less venom. "Even – if I'd wanted to go – I couldn't have gotten away," I tell her.

"I guess – I don't have much room to talk. I'm an aunt seven times over, and I've never seen even seen pictures of my sister's youngest two. I doubt the older three really remember me either."

"What about your older brother?" Because of course if she's the oldest _girl_, that seems to imply that not only is there a brother, but he's obviously older… (and why didn't he protect her from this husband of hers? I know what I'd do to some creep who used Alison as a punching bag… not that I'd even know; I really haven't spoken to her in… a long time… I wonder if they've gotten around to telling my sister that I'm dead… maybe I should just let her believe it, if they have... our last conversation was pretty heated.) Beth is speaking:

"Corey's divorced. He has two boys he never gets to see. But – I was never real close to he or my sister – Glenna. She – you don't want to know what she said when I showed up on her doorstep, after leaving Neal. He's a real good catch, you see."

"No – no I'm afraid I don't see," I tell her – and it has nothing to do with my inability _to_ see.

Beth chuckles, just a little – she understands me. God, what a scary thought… "Glenna's husband Jeremy is laid off more often than he's working. Neal's from a good family – he has a good steady income. We lived in a big house – I even had a housekeeper."

"So you were a regular lady of luxury," I tease her gently.

"Yeah – I hated it. I can't stand someone else going through and re-arranging my house. I'm a Virgo. We like to keep our things just the way we like to keep them."

I chuckle –astrology really isn't my bag (bunch of bull hockey, if you really want my opinion), but wouldn't you know, Holly again… and just in case you're wondering, I'm a Scorpio… yep, it's almost my birthday...

"As far as Glenna was concerned, a few bruises were a fair trade forthe financial security I got from Neal. Neither she or Corey knows where I am – he just has my email – there's a library in town – I use their computers," she explains. "I hear from him – maybe once a month. We're not close – like I said – I was the oddball, even in my own family."

"What about the other brother or sister?" I ask. Just to have my curosity satisifed. I hear Beth's sharp little intake of air – at last, I'm the one catching _her_ off guard… However, that little feeling of glee evaporates the instant she opens her mouth and I hear the pain in her voice…

"Daniel. My twin. He died six months and three days after Mom. It – was a really bad year."

Me and my big fat fucking mouth…

"Remember I said I've seen scarier things?" she asks – I think I feel her squeeze my fingers a little harder.

I nod, "Yeah."

"He – drowned. It was an accident – Doc Peterson said he probably hit his head on a rock or something in the water – Daniel was like that. He'd dive in, even where he knew he wasn't supposed to. He was missing for – almost a week before the river gave him back. It was the middle of July."

Oh Christ – if she tells me she found the body – I know what happens to a body when you drown – and I can all too well imagine a week-old floater, in July – in Alabama…. I am _such _an ass. Maybe when this is all over, I should just go off some place quiet and live by myself...

"He – washed ashore – not even a mile from our house," I feel her shudder… "There were flies – but it was the smell that got to me – I still can't handle the smell of – anything – rotting. I – barely even recognized him."

"Beth – I'm sorry – I shouldn't have asked." I am the world's biggest fuckmook.

"It's – it's not just – that I found him – it's that – that was the first time my father – hit me. With the belt – I mean."

"What?"

"He said it was my fault Daniel drowned – and he – I needed sixteen stitches. The – little metal claspy thing – it caught my leg." She takes my hand and runs it over the scar (under any other circumstances, I'd be only too pleased to have my hand on her thigh… but… Christ. It isn't just one long scar – it's like he hit her over and over and each blow left a deep gash… and he just didn't stop. Now I really hate the man.)

"Jesus fucking Christ. Why would your father think you had anything to do with your brother drowning?" Which I suppose I really shouldn't have asked… I should learn to leave well enough alone… but we have already established that I am a fucking asshole, right?Even when I don't quite mean to be, it just – happens.

"I get – these gut feelings, remember? Sometimes I – see stuff – dreams. For almost the week – I kept – seeing Daniel. I knew where he'd wash up. I went there every day – and I – waited. And finally – there he was – only – only it was so much worse in real life. In the dream, there wasn't any – smell. And – my father – he – told me that I knew because – because it was somehow my fault," the tears have started… "But – the day it happened, the day he didn't come home– I was at home all day. I was washing my father's shirts – because I didn't get them right the first time. I knew something was wrong - but I didn't know what. And – maybe it _was_ my fault because if I had gotten the laundry right the first time, I wouldn't have had to re-do it all. I'd've been out with Daniel. But – I wasn't --"

Just when I think I've heard every _possible_ sick and twisted thing there is to hear… I pull Beth to me and wrap my arms around her – it's just one of those unconscious actions – I don't realize I've done it until it's happened – but I keep holding her anyway. "It _wasn't_ your fault." I tell her – which isn't to say I believe her story about dreams (more likely she had nightmares after the fact – and great big fat fuckmook that I am, _I_ just brought them back to the surface again because I just had to have my God damned curiosity satisfied.)

"_Everything_ was my fault after Mom died," she tells me through a few muffled little sobs -it's like she's trying very hard not to cry - but she just can't stop herself.

And all I can do is sit here feeling as useless as tits on a bull. All I can do is hold her while she cries because I don't know what to say to fix it. I've never known what to do with grief… or any strong emotion, really – but grief, loss – I've never been quite able to wrap myself around those. It's not that I don't hurt (although I have been called emotionally underdeveloped – which is fancy psycho-babble for "cold hearted bastard.") But – just between you and me, I wouldn't have gone to my mother's funeral even if I _hadn't_ been up to my Johnson in it. I wouldn't have known what to _do_ there. I don't know what to do hear, either. And suddenly it's very important to me that I do something. I would go kill them all if she asked me to – but – somehow I don't think that would really help. It's just that killing isonly thing I know how to do… I hold her as tight as I can. "It wasn't your fault," I say I can think to say... even though I know it isn't helping.

"I'm sorry," Beth's voice is barely audible. "You must really think I'm some kind of basket case – I can't seem to get through twenty four hours without breaking down on you."

"I don't think you're a basket case," I tell her gently, trying to brush the hair out of her face.

"I swear, I'm not usually like this,"she assures me, through her tears, "I don't make a habit of dumping my whole life story onto complete strangers."

"But I'm not a compete stranger – I'm your favourite patient, remember?"

That gets me a little bit of a chuckle, anyway. "Yes - yesyou are," she says - and I almost think I can hear a little bit of smile, too.

I capture her chin with my fingers, tilting her head up a little so she's looking at my face – which is a silly gesture, because usually the intent is to have the other person lookyou in the eyes… Oh well, time enough to consider the futility of day to day actions later. "Beth – I don't care what reasons your father thought he had for hitting you – he was wrong. You didn't deserve it – and – you are so much more than just good enough."

I can actually feel the muscles of her face forming a smile, "Thanks." Her tone is still so - tiny. Fragile.

I hadn't realized just how fragile she really was. "For what – dredging up bad memories or just asking nosey questions?"

"For – caring enough to – want to make it better. I went through almost four years of therapy – back when I thought I might be fixable – before I realized I wasn't ever going to be more than just functionally dysfunctional. My mother would say that I'm like a bit of broken crockery. Perfectly usable, if you don't mind the chips and the little sharp edges – and as long as you don't drop it, because if you do, you're going to need to glue the pieces back together again."

"Only when you do that, they don't always fit together quite like they used to."

"No they don't," she agrees – she leans back against me… and why she doesn't hate me, I just don't know.

This time, however, I have the wisdom to keep my big fat fucking mouth _shut_. I just lay there and listen to her breathing; I feel the rise and fall of her body with each breath… I can hear her heart beat. And I truly cannot imagine anyone telling her that she is anything less than wonderful, even if she is a little bit broken inside.

"You hungry?" Beth's voice rouses me from my musings.

"Why don't you let me cook for you for a change?"

Silence.

"What?"

"You – cook?" She sounds dubious – but I'm also pretty sure she's smiling.

"I happen to be a very good cook, thank you."

"You are huh?"

"Cooking is like fucking," I tell her. "It is something a man will do his entire adult life so he'd better learn to do it well. And it just so happens that I do it _very_ well."

"Would that be in reference to the cooking or the fucking?"

Damn. I feel my cheeks turning pink – although I _will_ deny it if anyone says so out loud. "I guess you'll just have to wait and see, Darlin'."

"Oh I will, huh?" she's still grinning…

And I really wish I knew what it was about this woman that makes me feel so strange inside. Good strange, mind you, but strange nonetheless...

I carry the coffee cups – she gets the blanket, and some while later, I have proven that I do know my way around a kitchen – even if I end up needing a little help, because cooking for me has always been as much about sight as it has about smell and taste… still, I guess I'm going to have to get used to this.

"You are a much better cook than I would have expected," she tells me – since I cooked, she's washing up – although I've volunteered to dry and put away.

I shrug, "It always amazes me when men say they can't cook. I never could stand tv dinners – I ate too many of them as a kid."

"I never knew what a tv dinner was."

"Beth – I'm sorry – earlier. I shouldn't have gone prying. You've been so good about respecting my privacy."

"It's ok – I'm just sorry I keep breaking down on you."

"Don't be – I really don't mind." And – other than wishing I knew what to do – I really don't…

Then we read _See Dick Run _until Cicily comes in, just an hour or so later - and asks me to help her with her math... which is at least slightly less challenging than cooking in the dark.

The rest of the evening proceeds much like the evening before – although this time Cicily warns me before giving me a hug (and I'm sure I can hear Beth snickering in the background, but I bite my tongue on any number of scathing comments.)

I tell Cicily tonight and Beth walks me to the bedroom door… we stop justat the threshold – and I'm really not ready to tell her good night, but I can't think of any excuses this time...

"Sheldon, can I ask you a personal question?"

"After this afternoon? Darlin' you can ask me anything you want to – short of international secrets," I add with a grin. "I'd hate to have to kill you."

Silence.

Christ, she didn't take me seriously…? "Beth – I was kidding –"

"I know."

"So – what did you want to ask?"

"If you were going to kiss me."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

_(Most the songs so far have been Sands' point of view… this one is Beth's…)_

I've been watching you from a distance  
The distance sees through your disguise  
All I want from you is your hurting  
I want to heal you  
I want to save you from the dark

Give unto me your troubles  
I'll endure your suffering  
Place onto me your burden  
I'll drink your deadly poison

Why should I care if they hurt you?  
Somehow it matters more to me  
Than if I were hurting myself  
Save you (save you)  
I'll save you

Give unto me your troubles  
I'll endure your suffering  
Place onto me your burden  
I'll drink your deadly poison

Fear not the flame of my love's candle  
Let it be the sun in your world of darkness  
Give unto me all that frightens you  
I'll have your nightmares for you  
If you sleep soundly

Give unto me your troubles  
I'll endure your suffering  
Place onto me your burden  
I'll drink your deadly poison

Fear not the flame of my love's candle  
Let it be the sun in your world of darkness

Evanescence

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_and – strictly for your amusement…_

I'm not terribly big on astrology myself – but I use it in working up characters for some basic generalizations (such as Virgos being neat freaks and Scorpios being master manipulators.)

And this is what one of the best little reads on "romantic" astrology has to say of Virgos and Scorpios….

From the Virgo's point of view (to Mr. Scorpio):

"Shy caring, and seriously understated sex toy who can balance the books _and _ring your chimes seeks surly-but-sensitive power broker to seduce, surprise and send into carnal Heaven."

And, from Mr. Scorpio (who is described as a "Sadistic Head Case," by the way) to Ms. Virgo:

"Critical, irritable killjoy bent on controlling the world, seeks critical, irritable nitpicker for mutual verbal flagellation and surprisingly compatible sex."

Not that Beth is much of a nag or a nitpicker – but it was that whole "seeks to control the world" that got me smiling.

Above snippets from _Love on a Rainy Day_ by Hazel Dixon-Cooper…

It was a bridal shower gift from an old college roomie and I think the only astrology book I own – but it is a fun read.


	13. Into the Darkness

**Chapter Twelve:**

_Into the Darkness_

I can't move. I can't breathe. I can't even think.

My shorts are buzzing.

Cell phone, people. Somewhere along the line, it must have gotten switched to vibrate…

"Saved by the bell," Beth says, "Unless there's something I _really_ ought to know about, there Cowboy."

I manage a laugh – barely. "Just – don't go anywhere ok?" I say as I'm fishing the phone out of my short's pocket. I know who it is – I'm happy to hear from him – although this is a little sooner than I'd expected – and his timing is really fucked up… I flip the phone open and press it to my ear, answering with my usual, "Sands here."

"Jeff – Milo – we need to talk."

"I kinda figured that out all on my own, Sugar Butt."

"I'm serious. I'll just coming up to the house now – meet on the veranda. Alone."

"Roger and wilko that." I flip the phone shut. Shit. This cannot be good.

"Something the matter?" Beth asks.

"Yeah – I think so." Damn. Did I really hear her say what I think I heard her say? "But ah – it can wait."

"You sure?"

"Yeah – well – I guess that depends. You – you want me to kiss you?"

"It'd be nice. But – you don't have to."

I really wish I could see her – I wish I could be sure – I_ think_ she's smiling – I – think I'd just like to see those green eyes of hers.

"Sorry – I didn't mean to –"

"No – no – I'd – like that - to kiss you, I mean," I manage to pry the words out of my throat. I really don't think I'm breathing… Do you remember your first kiss? I remember mine…. I remember closing my eyes because that's what you're supposed to do… now… now I wish I could open them again, just once more…

I feel Beth slide a little closer – and then there's a hand resting on the back of my neck – she guides me forward so very gently (almost as if she's afraid she might break me… and… she just might.) Sweet, feather-soft lips brush against mine… her tongue teases at my lips – and – I yield to her touch… But my mind won't stop churning – I have nothing to give her – nothing she could possibly want… why is she doing this…? I'm afraid to breathe – afraid to do anything that might stop her from doing what she's doing to me… afraid to do anything that might hurt her... God, if I'm dreaming, I don't ever want to wake up… Very gently, I cup her face in my hands...

Her tongue plays with mine, coaxes it into her mouth – plays with it… I feel her fingers twine into my hair, drawing me futher in… what I wouldn't give to be able make love to every inch of her right where we stand (not that I really think my body would be able to… but I'd sure love to try.)

And I know that Milo is on the veranda by now. Waiting to talk to me. _Alone…_

It's with almost painful reluctance, that I pull back – my whole mouth is on fire with her… "I – need to – go see – what Milo –"

"You call _Milo _'Sugar Butt'?"

"It's – a long story." Shit. Have I mentioned that I have a big mouth?

"I see," she replies… still, I'm very sure I hear a grin in her voice… and she leans up and gives my cheek one last kiss before I head off towards the kitchen… still trying to figure out… oh Hell, there's not enough blood left in the head above my shoulders to form a single coherent though.

I approach the backdoor slowly, straining for any noise… nothing seems amiss. I crack the door open just a smidgeon – someone rises – I hear the wicker creak slightly with their movement.

"Milo?" I ask before opening the door any further – one hand rests on the gun I've still got tucked into that shoulder holster.

"Right here," he tells me.

I ease my hand back out of my shirt and step outside – I close the door behind me. "Why do have the feeling you don't have good news," I light up a cigarette, straining to hear – anything… but nothing greets my ears except the sounds I've come to expect from Beth's garden.

"I ran a background check on your girl," he tells me – there's a little – trepidation, I think – in his voice.

"And?"

"She's wanted by the feds."

"What?" My little angel…

"Relax – the husband's accused her of kidnapping the girl – he's suing for divorce in her absence and trying to get full custody of their daughter. The judge that signed the first arrest warrant, in their home town, just _happens_ to have the same last name as the husband's mother."

No wonder she ran. However… "Somehow I don't think _that's_ what has your panties in a bunch, Sweet-stuff." Although it certainly is good to know I've just been swapping spit with a wanted woman…

"There's also a warrant out for your arrest."

"What? Where? And what the Hell for?"

"Something about your involvement in an attempted coup."

"Fucking fabulous," that damned mariachi…

"Jeff – it's not just the Mexicans who want you. The DOJ is interested in your recent activities down here as well."

"Why? It's fucking nuts down here – sometimes people die." I'm pacing – not a real easy thing to do when you can't see a God damned thing.

"That's not quite the problem. It seems no one's heard from you in over a month."

"Ah – no. I told you yesterday, that rat-bastard Collins _hung up _on me. It was the fucking first of November – which wasn't more than two weeks ago – and you'll have to excuse me for not checking in since then – getting shot aside, I've had every reason to believe I've been set up!" My temper is getting away from me… "Besides, I placed a call for a new line less than fifteen minutes after Collins fucking hung up on me."

"That's the good news."

"That's _good news_?"

"The main office has verified that you requested a new line."

"Swell. So just what does that mean?"

"It means that there's at least one hole in Collins' story."

"And that story would be?" Oh this I fucking gotta hear… I'm still pacing.

"Collins' story is that your last check-in was October thirteenth. At that time you told him about Barillo hiring Marquez to overthrow the president – and you made a quote – a cryptic remark – about restoring the balance – then hung up."

"Bull hockey."

Milo just keep going – just as well, I'm half in my own little world by now…

"At which point Collins sent in an officer named Valverde to bring you in. You killed him."

"I did not!"

"Jeff – Valverde was a real officer – and he's really dead. No witnesses – but the bullet is the same caliber as one of the guns Collins says you carried. And frankly – it's too small to be real popular down here."

"Fuck. When – where?"

"Day of the Dead – lower east side of town."

Lower east side… "Fuck me! That was the fucker tailing after – " For the first time in days, my stomach does it's flip-flop thing again.

"Easy," Milo's hands on my shoulders steady me. "After – ?"

"That was the fucker shadowing me after my little doctor's appointment – you know, the one where I had my _eyeballs drilled out_. I thought he was one of Barillo's goons – I didn't know if he was going to kill me because Barillo really didn't intend to let me live – or if he was just supposed to make sure I didn't go and do something stupid, like – oh, I don't know – try to stop Barillo from overthrowing the government. Which in and of itself wasn't such a bad thing – it was just the whole concept of Marquez actually taking power that didn't sit too well with the boys back home. I was _doing my job_. And it was Collins who set up my meet with that little rat who got my inside guy inside." How the Hell can Collins be saying he hasn't heard from me in almost a God damned month?

Milo puts my butt into a chair. "Jeff – no one back home was interested in seeing the Mexican president removed from power."

Those words are like ice water hitting me in the face – or maybe a good swift kick in the balls.

"Presidente Corazon is about to sign a new drug treaty with the U.S. – and rumour has it, he was going to hand Barillo over the DEA, despite a couple of little technicalities in the extradition treaty."

"No. I got a _direct communication_ from Collins. The guys back home wanted Corazon _out_ – he was getting in the _way_ of the DEA. He was – _too_ good – too concerned with the civil rights of his people, everybody, even the God damn criminals. He wanted to the cartels shut down – but he wasn't willing to sacrifice a little integrity to do it. I was told that he should be sent off to that last sweet good-night in the sky." Collins' own words, in fact…

"No, Jeff. I've seen Dan Collins' report. _Everything_ that happened on the Day of the Dead was you – you and your obsession for balance. You saw someone you thought was too good – _you_ decided even out the scales by murdering him – albeit indirectly. You set it up – the whole thing."

I don't believe this… Rod Serling is hiding in the garden somewhere, right?

"Collins says you knew about Ajedrez Cardenas all along. You know she was Barillo's daughter – and that didn't stop you from screwing her – that didn't stop you from planning to run off with her – without any plans to ever come back. And – that is tantamount to treason."

"Fuck me," I breathe – at least, I _think_ I'm breathing. I haven't just been burned – I've been buried alive. "This is _not_ happening."

"I'm sorry. But it is."

"Please – tell me _you_ don't believe this load of shit." I don't know why I care – but – it suddenly really matters to me that at least one person believes me when I say I didn't sell out – not to Barillo, not to anyone. I have never, _ever_ been a traitor. "For Christ's sake, Milo – you've seen for yourself what Barillo did to me!" I pull the glasses off anyway, just to remind him - just in case he somehow managed to forget. I'm not _just _blind. Barillo mutilated me...I wonder if he's turned away so he doesn't have to look at what's become of my face.

"If I believed Collins' report, do you honestly think I'd be sitting here talking to you, now?" Milo asks.

"I don't know – are you sitting here so you can convince me to turn myself in, nice and quiet like?"

"_Right_ – like you know how to do anything quietly."

It isn't exactly a denial, but I know Milo. He's not like me – he doesn't play word games. I slide the glasses back into place… I just feel too damned exposed when they're off… "How did this happen?" I mutter - although I'm speaking aloud, I'm really talking to myself. "Who wants Corazon removed from power – and why use _me_ to do it?" Fuck me... fuck me but good with a God damned chain saw and skip the lube.

"You were an easy mark," Milo tells me – as if I didn't already know it. "You get so caught up in your own machinations – and let's face it –"

"Yeah. I know. Don't bother fucking saying it." With _my_ track record – how hard was it really to convince the DOJ that I'd gone rogue, turned traitor? _Lost my God damned marbles_… And now – now I have to get out of here before a real shit storm rains down on Beth. That's why Milo told me about the federal warrant. If they find me – they find her. She could loose Cicily to that creep of a husband.

"Look – there are a couple of ways we can play this. You can turn yourself in – I didn't say you should," he says quickly, as I open my mouth to tell him where to shove _that_ dandy little idea. "I'm just laying out the options.".

"I know what my fucking options are," I snarl back at him. "Turn myself in. Go on the run. Or – try to sort this mess out on my own somehow. Clear my 'good name'."

"You're not on your own."

"Milo – while I appreciate the information you've kindly provided on the current fucked up situation, this thing will do more than just end your career. So – you just toddle on back to California – enjoy your vacation – and work on your tan. You always were too pasty."

"Jeff: You. And me. And six guys pounding the crap out of me."

"That wasn't a career ending rescue. And it had nothing to do with you anyway. I didn't even _like _you."

"I know."

"So – why would you go out on a limb for me now?"

"For one thing – not everyone in this world is like you. And for another, sixteen years ago you had the power to either help me – or walk away. Regardless of the reason – you helped me. I – may – have the power to help you now. _If_ you're willing to accept the help."

"How? I mean – no offence – but this – this is a little fucking bigger than I'd thought. I just figured I'd been left with my dick flapping in the wind – burned, but not – not buried fucking alive." Truth is, boys and girls, I know I'm not going to walk away from this – not unless I come up with some real brilliant scheme real fucking fast… and at the moment, I'm not having any brilliant ideas. All I know is that I can't stay here. I can't lead the feds to Beth and Cicily…

"Jeff – listen to me. I have a friend at the DOJ. But – I need to be able to trust you with this – because – it could come back to bite me in the ass. Hard."

"You can't trust anybody with anything, Milo, haven't you learned that by now?" I light up another cigarette – I don't even remember what happened to my last one… can't trust anybody. Especially not a guy like me.

"Jeff, I'm serious."

"So am I. Just – thanks for the help – but get lost. Get lost before this mess I've made destroys you too."

"Marlina Eddas."

"Fuck me. Talk about your friends in high places." But then – he has to have someone in his life to balance out his – friendship? – with a fuckmook like me.

Marlina Eddas is the head of the Intelligence Policy and Review Office – the guys who more or less over see us. Kinda. See, we're considered a "client agency" – but really what happens is that these guys let the Attorney General know when we've forgotten to dot our T's and cross our I's... Or is it the other way around…? I always forget… All I really know is that Eddas answers directly to the Deputy Attorney General, who is himself just one step down from the Big Cheese, Attorney General Greg Byers, a guy whose idea of roughing it is having his gold plated toilet over flow. He's never had to live in a shit hole like this – he's never seen the inside of an Eastern European prison cell – he has no idea what guys like me and Milo go through to keep guys like him safe inside their secure little world… but he's always trying to tell us how to do our jobs. Fuck him. Fuck them all.

"Are you listening to me?" Milo asks.

Right. Milo. He was probably talking. "Not really."

With an exasperate sigh, he repeats: "After I realized just how deep you were in your own shit – I made a call. If you can get Marlina Eddas solid evidence that you've been set up – she'll back you. Full immunity across the board – as long as you play ball with her. That means _full_ co-operation. No stunts – no – hot dog maneuvers. You play ball and you behave."

"But I didn't do anything!"

"_This _time."

"Oh. Right. Why?" Why did he bother – why would Marlina Eddas bother… she hates guys like me.

"Because this has to go higher up than Dan Collins – or even Rebecca Suarez. But – you've gotta understand that it would piss off more than just couple of guys back home –"

"If they found out you were hobnobbing with the lady who keeps butting her nose into CIA affairs? No shit."

"So?"

So what choice do I have? If my shit starts raining down here… I don't want to think of Cicily in Neal's custody… and in my current state, I'm not so sure I could quietly sneak into some backwater town, waste the fucker, and sneak out again – not if I end up on some top ten most wanted list. Small town sheriffs live for shit like that – don't usually care if they bring 'em in dead or alive. And right this very moment, I'm rather partial to staying alive… "Sure. What the Hell do I have to lose, right? Count me in." I want to see Suarez and Collins flapping in the breeze – or at least I'd like to hear about it… after all, I really am never going to _see _another damn thing… not for the rest of my life. And some fuckers at the DOJ actually think I was somehow working with Barillo? I need a drink.

"Jeff – I – hate to add onto this –"

"Oh, what now?"

"Your sister's been trying to reach you for the last three months."

"What? Why?"

"I have no idea what it's about," he tells me, "I just – when I went snooping around, I found out that she's been calling almost every week for the last three months. I know the message got as far as Collins – but I – hazarded a guess that it didn't get to you."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck and more fuck. And not the good kind, either. "I'll kill him."

"You can't kill him."

"I'll kill him."

"Jeff – you can't kill him. For once in your life you have to play nice and do things by the book."

"Fine. I'll wait until he's been convicted. Then I'll kill him."

Silence.

"What – you don't think I would – or you don't think I_ could_?"

"I know perfectly well that you would and could – but I'd like you to remember that this is my neck on the here line too. I had to do some fast talking to get Marlina to even _consider_ cutting you a little slack – if you hadn't made that call for another line, she never would have believed me that you were being used – or that you hadn't gone rogue. And - to be honest - she's still not quite convinced. You cannot fuck around this time, Jeff."

I sigh and put out my cigarette - what little was left of it, anyway. I want to kill Collins. I'd like to strangle him with a phone cord - you know, poetic justice... but I owe Milo too much... He's done more than put his neck out for me on this–he may well have saved my life. "I guess I owe Collins for something – if he hadn't hung up on me – I wouldn't've been worried about my line being compromised. I suppose for that I can let him live – as long as it's with his dick flapping in the wind."

"All we have to do is come up with evidence that you had instructions to take out the president – and then you just have to play nice long enough for Marlina to get her convictions – and frankly, I expect theformer to be easier than the latter. I know you."

I laugh – yeah, that he does. "How come you're so tight with this woman, anyway? I know you're not screwing her."

He laughs about the same way Beth did when I asked her if she'd gone and hung out with the technologically impaired. "Jesus – Jeff – believe it or not, every relationship isn't forged in the bedroom. I've been working with Marlina to – clean things up a little."

"Wait – you're ratting on us rats?"

"I'm not saying some of what we do in the field isn't necessary – but – there have to limits. There have to be lines that just don't get crossed – or pretty soon the system is so corrupt – it just doesn't work any more."

"I always did think you were too good to be one of us. Don't worry – your secret is safe with me," I tell him. "It's not like the Company has exactly had my back lately."

"Do you need any help getting packed – it's safer if we leave while it's still dark."

Yeah… yeah it is. "I – could probably use a hand. Where are we off to?" Because I know he's not going to march me into Washington – not unless he's really setting me up – but this would be a Hell of an elaborate ruse for a guy like Milo. Other than accepting a little well earned pay off, he really is a straight shooter – er – well, you know what I mean.

"I've booked us a room at your favourite little island resort."

"Aw fuck."

"You know – if you keep propositioning me like that, I might just have to take you up on it."

I just shake my head and laugh…

…Beth is in the living room when we come in – she's playing her harp.

"Wow," Milo says quietly in my ear, "She's good."

"Yeah. You know where the bedroom is – I'll – just be a minute –" and I curse myself because – he's going to say something smart assed, I just know it…

"Take your time."

Swell. Milo is just bound and determined to screw up my perception of the universe…

I listen to him head down the hall – I lean up against the doorframe until Beth stops. "That was amazing."

"A not so old Irish song about a woman who's lover goes off to sea – only she never sees him again. She spends her whole life waiting – and a hundred years later, her spirit is still waiting – but even his ghost doesn't come home to her."

"That's so – depressing."

"Most Irish ballads are."

I make my way across the room to where she's sitting – she's on the sofa, probably stretched out – so I take the chair next to her. And – I realize I can't quite formulate what I want to say. This should be easy, right? – _so long and thanks for all the fish._

"You're leaving tonight." Beth finally breaks the silence for me – and it isn't even a question. I guess she must have had one of her gut feelings...

"Yeah – and – just when things were getting interesting – " I smirk – defense mechanism.

"Well – it's not like – you could stay here forever, right?"

Apparently, her defense mechanism is trying to be cavalier. Her tone, however, gives her away. Still…

"Yeah. Not like I could stay forever. Look – Beth – Milo – did some – checking," Great, I don't even know how to tell her Milo ran a background check… "I want you to watch your back, ok?"

"I'll be fine."

"It's not just – the stuff that went down November second. There's a federal warrant out for your arrest – your husband," I explain.

"I see. Well – I shouldn't be too surprised. Neal's family is pretty well connected."

"Yeah – I kinda got that idea."

"We'll be ok, Sheldon – but – thanks for the head's up – and no, it doesn't bug me that he ran a background check on me. I'm glad he did it."

"You are?"

"Yeah. Maybe – you'll finally realize you _can_ trust someone."

"Look – Beth – "

She reaches over and brushes her fingers against my lips, "Shhhh. There's nothing more to say. Just – tell me you'll take care of yourself – and – you know – if you're ever in my neck of the woods and you need a doctor –"

"Yeah. Yeah – I'll – I'll – look you up – so to speak. I – I should go – help Milo pack my stuff – or he might just decide to leave half my wardrobe here in disgust."

She chuckles lightly – I'm just standing when her hand catches my arm – it feels like she stands up with me. "Would you – do me one more favour?" Beth asks.

"Sure – anything."

"Please don't leave without telling Cicily good bye."

"Beth – I – don't want to – I mean – it's the middle of the night," my brain is scrambling to come up with any excuse to not have to – face a seven year old. Why is that such a terrifying prospect?

"She'll be more upset if you don't say good bye. Please – don't hurt her, Sheldon. She's awfully attached to you."

I – just stand there. I don't know what to say.

"Who do you think helped me take care of you? Who do you think reminded me to eat when all I could do was worry about you getting enough food and liquid into you, after loosing so much blood?"

"I guess – I never thought about it. I owe you both."

"You don't owe me anything – all I'm asking is that – you don't hurt my daughter by sneaking off in the middle of the night without a good bye."

Sneaking off… yeah, I guess I am sneaking off… "Beth – I _have_ to go. It's a lot worse than I'd thought back home – a_ lot_ worse – and – if they come here looking for me – and find you – with a federal warrant – "

"I know. And – it's not like I thought you'd be around forever."

Yeah. I'm not the kind of guy who hangs around. I have my fun – get my kicks – and then I leave. That's my M.O. I'm an asshole.

I reach out for her hand – and at least she doesn't avoid my touch. I wrap my hands around hers – she's so – warm. Her hands are so strong – she might be a little bit broken – but she's strong too. I just – hold her hand trying to figure out what it is I want to say. "I'm sorry," is the best I can come up with; I don't even know what I'm sorry about – I just brush her knuckles up against my lips.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Cowboy. You – are who you are. You – have to do what you have to do."

"I'll come back. I want to finish what we started in the hallway – I want to –" I want to know to know if I'm the world's biggest fuckmook – or if – there's really something going on here…

"Please don't. I've had enough empty promises in my life."

"I know."

"What – does that mean?"

"It means I know. Ok?"

She hesitates for an _awfully_ long time before I get a rather quiet, kind of uncertain sounding_ Ok_ out of her.

"Ok," I echo. I press my lips to hers… it's just as nice as the last time...damn, what I wouldn't give for a few more hours… but the sooner I'm out of her, the safer she'll be...

…I make my way to Cicily's room – Beth offers to come with me – but – I really think I should do this alone. I'm a grown man, I can face a seven year old. I think.

I remember the way to her bed – although I mis-judge the distance – I know if I'd brought that damned cane… but I didn't. My pride really won't let me rely on it, no matter how much I know I need it… just the same, I manage to sit down on the edge of the bed without falling down – and the movement wakes Cicily.

"Senor Sands?" she queries – I feel her moving – probably rolling over or rubbing her eyes.

"Hey there."

"Is something the matter?"

"No – no, not really. But – I'm leaving – and – I wanted to say good bye to you."

"Leaving – now?" Her voice is filled with the sort of odd mix of emotions one might expect… and that I just don't know how to handle.

"Yeah – you remember my friend, Senor Givens?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well – he's back and – we need to go home."

"But – we haven't finished _Peter Pan_."

"I know – but – I have to go now. Senor Givens is waiting for me."

Suddenly there are arms bein thrust around my waist – after a moment's worth of collecting my wits Iwrap my arms around her and I pull her close. "I'll come back if I can," I say, "And – if I do then we can finish _Peter Pan. _I just can't make any promises, because I have to go very far away."

I feel – well, my best guess is that it's a nod. I hope that's better than her shaking her head… Cicily releases me – I feel her shuffle around on the bed – and then something is thrust into my lap. "What's this?"

"_Peter Pan._ This way you can finish it even if you don't come back." So – matter of fact…

"Sweetheart – I can't read this – I can't see. That part is never going to get any better."

"Well – maybe _your _daughter can read it to you – can you remember where we left off?"

Talk about your proverbial ton of bricks – but – there's no way to make a seven year old understand all the very grown up, very complicated reasons why my daughter will never be able to read the end of this to me… "I remember. You – should try to get back to sleep, now – you have school in the morning."

"I'm glad you were with us – at least for a little while."

"Yeah – me too," I give her a parting kiss on the top of the head – it just – seems like the thing to do… and I think I really am going to miss the squirt…

By the time I've said good bye to Cicily, Milo has my stuff together – he swears on pain of death that he has not left behind a single tacky t-shirt. I'm not quite sure I believe him but… what the Hell, there are tourist traps on Eros Island – and where there are tourist traps, there are tacky more t-shirts.

I say my final good bye to Beth at the garden gate, "Thank you – for everything."

"De nada, Cowboy. Just – take care of yourself."

"I'll do my best. AndI um – I left you something in the bedroom."

"Oh?"

"I'm not much of a romantic – but – you promise me – you'll shoot first and ask questions later, ok?"

"Sheldon –"

I pull her hands up into mine, "_Promise_ me."

"I promise – now go – Milo's waiting."

"All right. Take care of yourself – both of you."

"We'll be ok. We always are."

Yeah. I can believe that.

I slide into the passenger seat without a word to Milo– and thankfully he's not in a talkative mood either. Turning in the direction I remember Beth standing, press my fingers to my lips and wave into the darkness.

My Baretta is sitting on her nightstand, with enough ammo to last a good long time.

_----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Hey your glass is empty  
it's a hell of a long way home  
Why don't you let me take you  
it's no good to go alone  
I never would have opened up  
but you seemed so real to me  
After all the bullshit I've heard  
it's refreshing not to see  
I don't have to pretend  
she doesn't expect it from me_

_So don't tell me I  
haven't been good to you  
Don't tell me I  
haven't been there for you  
Just tell me why  
nothing is good enough_

_Hey little girl would you like some candy,  
your momma said that it's o.k.,  
The door is open come on outside,  
no I can't come out today,  
It's not the wind that cracked your shoulder  
and threw you to the ground,  
Who's there that makes you so afraid  
you're shaken to the bone,  
You know I don't understand,  
you deserve so much more than this_

_So don't tell me why  
he's never been good to you,  
Don't tell me why  
he's never been there for you,  
And I'll tell you that why  
is simply not good enough,  
So just let me try  
and I will be good to you  
Just let me try  
and I will be there for you,  
I'll show you why  
you're so much more than good enough_

_Sarah McLachlan_

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_and in the role of_

_Marlina Eddas... _Alberta Watson (La Femme Nikita - tv series - Hackers - the movie)


	14. Unseen Shores

**To all:** Yes – Sands made a promise – he intends to keep it… it may just take him a little longer than he'd like…

And again, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone for the reviews! Seeing them really makes my day! I'm sorry this chapter is a little short... next one is a little short too... but I can promise that it's interesting...

**Chapter Thirteen:**

_Unseen Shores_

I listen to the city go by – rubber tires on ancient cobblestone. Cars pass us – just regular passenger vehicles – no army trucks – no police cars with their sirens wailing. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I fish around in my pockets – every pack of cigarettes I have on me is empty. And Milo doesn't smoke… so I just sit and listen to the city pass us by. _And_ I become acutely aware that the silence between us has grown very uncomfortable… which makes me more than just a little edgy… "What?" I finally ask.

"_What_ – what?" He asks back.

"What is it?"

"I'm – I guess I don't really know how to react to what happened. To you."

"Don't sweat it," I tell him – mostly because it doesn't really matter now. It's done – it can't be fixed… _I_ can't be fixed. (Although it could be argued that I was on the broken side to begin with…)

"Jeff – you were set up by at least two fellow Officers – even if they didn't know exactly what Barillo was going to do to you – you wouldn't have let your guard down around that woman if you'd known she was his daughter."

"You think I don't know that?" Fuck – I really need a smoke.

"I guess – I'm just – angry."

"Gee – you think I'm not?" Fuck me, I'm not in the mood for this… I should have left well enough alone with the uncomfortable silence.

"Truth is, I don't know that I wouldn't have taken a gun to my own head after – something like that."

"Don't think I didn't think about it."

I hear – hmmm – I can picture him – opening his mouth – shutting his mouth – the little gears whirling inside his brain…

"No, you don't have to take my toys away," I decide to let him off the hook before that hamster in his head – you know, the one responsible for making the wheels spin round – has a coronary while Milo tries to figure out how to ask me if I'm suicidal (or at least any more so than I've been accused of being before.) "If really wanted to off myself, I wouldn't need a gun to do it, anyway. We both know how many ways there are to kill a man."

He laughs – it's a fairly hollow laugh, "Yeah. I guess – I can't begin to imagine what you're feeling," there is a certain – overwhelming sincerity in his tone. "I – keep trying to – put myself in your shoes. Trying to – imagine – what I'd be doing right now, if I was suddenly – "

"Maimed? Mutilated? Betrayed by everyone, even your own God damned agency and you know it's all your own fault because you let yourself be blinded by some sweet little whore and then you find you've been caught with your pants down around your ankles? When you suddenly realize that life as you know it is over – you can't see – you can't – " I take a breath. "Can't even imagine anyone ever wanting to look at your face again?"

"You know that isn't true."

"No. I don't."

"I saw the way she looked at you when you told her good bye – and even if you can't see – you know people too damned well to tell me you didn't notice it."

I just lean my head back – and I've said it before but it bears repeating – it is the strangest damned thing that I want to shut my eyes even though I don't _know_ there is nothing left to shut… "I don't know what was going on back there," I tell him honestly. I really – don't. _I don't_ – I remember the kiss – but – that doesn't mean I understand it… I don't understand why I told her I'd come back... I don't know why believing that I would return seemed to - lessen her hurting. Because I do realize she was hurting... I just don't know_ why..._

"Yes you do."

"Milo –" I shake my head; I do not feel like having this debate with him; I've been having it enough in my own God damned head. "What does she look like, anyway?"

"Don't you know?"

"Hello – no eyes – can't see," I reply in a caustic tone.

"You have to have some idea."

"I know her hair is blond – her eyes are green – but – it's still hard to put the rest of it together."

"She's pretty," he tells me, "In a Sweet Mary Oatblossom sort of a way. You know – real girl next door type. Her hair frames her face – it's sort of a honey colour and it's straight – with some red in it, when the sun hits –her eyes are green – green-green, not hazel," he begins filling in some of the gaps and a more complete picture forms in my head…

Belini described El's girl as the most beautiful woman anyone had ever seen… and while I don't think anyone would describe my angel in quite those terms – I think she might be the most beautiful person I've ever met… and… I want to fill all those hurt little places inside her with pleasure – I don't want to be just one more empty promise – not to either of them... and… there are too many uncertainties in my future for me have made the kind of promise I made before I left. Christ I am an idiot... "So – why are we heading off my absolute favourite little patch of fun in the sun?" I ask – yep that's sarcasm there, kiddies. "I mean – wouldn't it be more – I don't know – _expeditious_ – for me to stick around here and try to clear my good name?"

My second-favourite movie of all time – are you ready for this? Bated breath? Edge of your seat – gonna find out just what a twisted little fuck your favourite CIA agent really is? Well, my second-fave flick of all time just so happens to be a movie called _Oscar, _with Sylvester Stallone (although I am not what you would call a huge Stallone fan, he's made a few good ones) and Tim Curry (gotta love any man with the balls to wear that much make up.)_ Oscar _was not a typical flick for either Stallone or Curry (not that I think Tim Curry has any sort of 'typical movie') – and it has everything a good movie _should_ have: mobsters, Mozart, a bag full of lingerie and a bunch of moronic cops who can't tell the difference between a banker anda crook…. Well. Hmmm…. Anyway…._expeditious_ is one of the words of the day our hero, one Mr. Snaps Provolone, expounds upon. And a good word it is – it means to get something done efficiently and quickly. Which is how I feel about the current situation – I want it wrapped up _expeditiously_.

(Oh, and in case you're wondering, my favourite flick of all time is _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_. Heads. Heads. Heads. Heads. Heads… man what a fucked up movie. I love it.) However, I believe I have digressed… you know, a cigarette would really help that… alas, I know better than asking Milo to pull over to appease my habit… Not only are we soon going to be on a plane (no smoking allowed – I really wish I could shoot everyone involved in making smoking such a fucking sin these days), but Milo has voiced his opinion on my nasty little habit on more than one occasion... and the cobblestone seems to have given way to paved road while I was digressing – oh yeah, and Milo is speaking.

"_We_ aren't going to Eros – you are. I'm only staying long enough to help you get settled in."

"You're going to leave me there – all alone and defenseless?" I feign horror.

"Yes. And none of the staff had better come up dead, maimed or missing."

"Does that mean I can systematically pick off the guests?" I ask in a hopeful tone.

"No – you may not systematically pick off the guests, either."

"Killjoy. So just what am I supposed to do with myself – and more importantly, what sort of mischief are _you_ going to be up to while sit around twiddling my thumbs in the sun?"

"You're going to take a couple of weeks to really recover – I've already spoken to the physician on staff –"

My almost-good mood evaporates. Apparently, it's a visible change…

"Look, Jeff –"

"No, _you_ look – I am not an invalid."

"I never said you were. But you've had barely over a week to heal – you need more time to get back on your feet."

"My _feet_ aren't the problem. The _problem_ – isn't going to heal. You can leave me rotting on that island for the rest of my life – my eyes are never going to grow back," the bitterness in my voice surprises even me.

"You know – for a man who doesn't want sympathy, you sure seem to be doing a good job of feeling sorry for yourself."

I am still armed. I can could very easily pull the Browning out of my shoulder holster, point it at his head (not like I'd have any trouble finding it, he's sitting a whole six fucking inches from me) and pull the trigger… Which _would_ leave the little matter of the car swerving out of control… and even if I grab wheel, I kinda can't see the road. Damn. Talk about having a guy by the balls… "Fine. So I'll sit on my ass for a couple of weeks if it makes you happy. What are _you_ going to be doing?"

"I'm going to set up surveillance on Collins and Suarez."

"So – I sit on my ass, and you clear my name. Swell."

"You are in no physical condition to go into the field right now – and I'm not talking about your eyes," he tells me. "You need a couple more weeks."

Milo pulls off the main road onto a dirt road – ok, we are clearly not headed to the commercial airport… probably a good maneuver, really. Not that I'm really in any kind of mood to appreciate it. "I just don't like feeling useless," I tell him. _When the fuck did I get so God damned honest? _I mean – I don't admit to things like that. But – I guess Milo_ has_ seen me at worst… Fucks-it-stan-okov and all… "Just don't leave me out of the loop," I tell him.

"I'll be checking in with you twice a day – just to make sure you haven't shot anybody," his tells me – I'm pretty sure I hear a grin in there somewhere. "You know these guys better than I do – you know what I should be looking for. I'm just – just going to be your eyes in Mexico while you get back on your feet."

I can tell by his tone, he's waiting for me to loose it – but I just nod. I guess a part of me has finally started to accept that for the rest of my life I'm going to be at least a little dependant on other people… and I hate it. I hate myself for being blinded by a cheap piece of tail – but I would hate myself even more if I let them win – if I let them get away with what they've done to me. "I'd just rather not be so far away from the action."

"At the moment there are a few too many people in Mexico looking for you," says Milo.

Which of course, I know… and I don't want any of those people finding Beth because of me… so I lean back and try to enjoy the rest of the trip…

I'm too keyed up to sleep, even on the plane – too much is rolling through my head – too many random thoughts – and too few of them pleasant.

…. It's something like one o'clock in the morning – local time – when we finally land on Eros. No customs – no nothing – just a car from the resort waiting at the small private airstrip to take us to our destination. I would have been surprised by anything else.

…Milo hangs around just long enough to help me settle in – although he is polite enough to go take a walk when I ask him to give me twenty minutes to get acquainted with my room. It's probably just my pride – or vanity – but – I don't want anyone watching me stumble around in the dark, feeling my way along the walls, trying to remember where all the God damned furniture is located – which is very much a hit and miss operation…

I'm mildly surprised when I come to the balcony door – open it – and discover that Milo has set me up in an ocean side room, despite the fact that I can't appreciate the view. I step out onto the balcony – two chairs and a table… the air is cool and smells of salt and water – it's – clean. Clear. Far below, I can hear thesea crashing against the cliff… it's an oddly peaceful sound…

Mexico is – loud. Chaotic. The streets are dingy and over crowded. They smell – hot – sweaty – like old gym socks or the boy's locker room.The air is always filled with dust. It's dry. Stagnant. I hated Mexico…

But Mexico still has one thing over this and every other place on earth – it has my angels… I don't honestly know when I started thinking of either of them as _mine_... I lean over the ancient, wind-wornstone railing and listen to ocean crashing up against rocks, far, far below… it brings to mind that song Beth was singing… andI wonder if that isn't what she expects, to never see me again… I wonder if she doesn't just believe that I'll either get myself killed, or just be one moreempty promise… I have to wonder if she wouldn't be better off… I mean – what _do _I have to offer a woman like Beth? What could I possibly give Cicily except an even more screwed up childhood…

I shut and lock the balcony door (paranoia) and make a second go around the room, mostly to keep my mind off of other things...

After I'm satisfied that I can make it from the bed to the bathroom without breaking my neck, I make my way back to the lobby where Milo is chatting with someone – I hear his voice almost the instant I step off the elevator. (Yes, I have the damned cane still – I hate it – I hate it that it pegs me as handicapped… but I'm not stupid either. I'm in completely foreign territory here…)

Milo comes over towards me, with the someone he was talking to in tow (I can hear two sets of footsteps.)

"Jeff – this is Tiffany – she's the resort's main concierge."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sands – please, if you need anything at all, you just let me know," she says grasping my hand firmly in hers – she sounds barely out of her teens – and has that kind of cute voice that suggests she may have been a cheerleader in high school. I'm also pretty sure she's shorter than I am. "Just dial nine-twenty-two on any phone and it'll ring straight through to my phone – and I've always got it on me, day and night – don't ever worry about the time. Just call – even if you just feel like some company."

I think I'm getting a caffeine buzz just standing next to her…

"The resort's courtesy car is at your disposal – I've already spoken to the library in town – they have a small selection of books in Braille and on tape. The librarian, Mrs. Angeline, told me that she could get more from the mainland, it might just take a day – and if you don't want to go into town, I would be more than happy to arrange to have anything at all brought right to your room. If you want to give me a few titles now, I'm sure I can get at least something to you by tomorrow afternoon," she sounds so – hopeful, like a little puppy… a little over-caffeinated puppy…

I wonder if she comes with speed control... "Um – I was in the middle of _Body Count_ by Burl Barer," I wonder what the sweet little puppy will make of that… if she even knows what it's about… somehow I doubt it.

"Anything else?"

"_Dead and Buried,_ by – Corey Mitchell…" What else was on my reading list? "_Through the Window,_ by Diane – Fanning," I have to think a minute to remember the last name of that one…

"Ah – Jeff," Milo interjects, "How about a little _light_ reading."

"That _is_ light reading." Just because the books I've just listed are all about serial killers, rapists and assorted other real life crime (and all of it heinous in nature…)

"So much more becomes clearer now," he mutters under his breath.

I just chuckle and turn in the direction of my perky little concierge, "All right, just to make my friend here happy – earlier this year I bought a book that I haven't had a chance to read yet – maybe you can find me a copy of Eric Garcia's _Anonymous Rex_." I can practically hear Milo's eyebrows hitting his hairline and I smirk in his direction, "Didn't think I had a sense of humour, did you?"

"I knew it existed – you just don't want to know what I thought of it."

I continue smirking…

Tiffany excuses herself, but tells me again that if I need anything at all, all I need to do is dial nine twenty two on any phone in the hotel and she'll be right there… Then just as she's bounding off, she turns to remind me that Dr. Answan is expecting me first thing in the morning – whatever time I'd like first thing to be… and then finally, she is gone… and I'm reminding myself that I promised Milo I wouldn't kill anybody…

Milo walks with me as far as the elevators – "So what exactly did you say to this doctor anyway?" I ask him.

"Just that you were involved in an 'acccident' recently, and it would be best for him not to inquire further. I've nursed a few of my more unusual injuries here myself – Answan is the soul of discretion."

"If you say so," I'm still feeling a little leery of doctors.

"Look – Jeff – I hate to – leave –"

"I'm a big boy – I can take care of myself – and if I can't, I've got Tiffany."

He chuckles, "She is a little overwhelming."

"What's she doing here anyway – I mean – she's a girl."

"Think about it this way – you've got a daughter – imagine her as nineteen and wanting to go off and see the world – can you think of any safer place than a gay resort?"

"Hmm. Good point." Of course there's still the townies – but town, as I recall, is a good five miles out – and it sounds like Tiffany is pretty devoted to her job – either that or Milo slipped her a few bucks to keep an eye on me…

We say our good byes – I hate being left like this. Not the being left alone part – the feeling left out of the loop part…

But there isn't much to be done about it. He's right – I need at least another week or two before I'm really going to be fit for much of anything… back in my room, I rummage through my suit case and find my toiletries – and that wonderful shampoo Beth got for me…

Before heading into the bathroom, I pop her CD into the room's player – finding play is a minor challenge – but I opt for the biggest button first and what do you know…

In the bathroom, I arrange everything carefully on the sink so I can find things without having to grope around in the dark – then I run a bath (the tub is a good three feet deep, three feet wide and six feet long…) While it's running, I double check that the doors and windows are bolted – and just to be sure, I lock the bathroom door from the inside and I set the Browning within easy reach.

A long hot soak does me some good – and by the time the birds are singing, my sorry ass is collapsing into bed…

I dream of flying bullets and breaking glass… of angels' wings… of shiny metal drills and other pointy nasty things… I dream of the scents of Beth's garden and flying through Neverland with a little girl who's face I'll never see but who's voice fills my darkness… and… I wake up alone in the dark, tangled up in the blankets of a king sized bed,drenched in sweat, wondering if that kiss in the hallway wasn't just another dream… because – _really_ – what do I have to offer a woman like Beth?

---

_Jackie left on a cold, dark night  
Telling me he'd be home  
Sailed the seas for a hundred years  
Leaving me all alone  
And I've been dead for twenty years  
I've been washing the sand  
With my ghostly tears  
Searching the shores for my Jackie-oh_

_I remember the day the young man came  
He said, "Your Jackie's gone  
We got lost in the rain"  
And I ran to the beach  
And laid me down_

_"You're all wrong", I said  
And they stared at the sand  
"That man knows that sea  
Like the back of his hand  
He'll be back some time  
laughing at you"_

_And I've been waiting all this time  
For my man to come  
Take his hand in mine  
And lead me away  
To unseen shores_

_I've been washing the sand  
With my salty tears  
Searching the shore  
For these long years  
And I'll walk the seas forever more  
Till I find my Jackie oh  
_

Sinead O'Connor

---------------------------------------------

The same woman from whom I snagged the quote a few chapters back, about palace motes and alligators, also introduced me to the movie _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_ (_and_ she's a Scorpio). Heads. Heads. Heads. Heads… is a reference to the first two or three minutes of the movie, in which a tossed coin keeps coming up heads. For further understanding – just rent it (fair warning, it's a bit surreal - andit'll help if you're at least marginally familiar with _Hamlet_.) Basically, it seemed just twisted enough – and dark enough – that a guy like Sands would enjoy the heck out of it – even if he was the only person in the room laughing.


	15. Happy Birthday

**Midnightmuse:** How's this for speedy? ; ) I had this one just about done already, I'm not really that fast… (and I do have a life, even if my husband doesn't seem to think so… what's more important, folding laundry or satisfying one's creativity?)

**And to all: ** Thank you, thank you! I appreciate all reviews, long or short, they really keep me plugging away.

I'd just like to once again (even though he's never going to read this) thank my husband for helping me muddle through some of the rougher plot points and figure out a little bit of getting from point a to point b.

**Chapter Fourteen:**

_Happy Birthday_

"_Please_ tell me you have something more interesting to say than nothing's going on," I say to Milo during our morning call on day seven of my island incarceration. I know what you're thinking – it could be worse. We all know that I'm looking at a very long term in a federal penitentiary if this doesn't work out… and I don't think I'm going to hear the ocean in some federal pen… I'm not going to have a balcony, sea air or eggs benedict and fresh coffee served at my bedside… but this is still a fucking prison. I can't _do_ anything – can't _go_ anywhere… and I _know_ it's only been a week – and patience is _truly_ a very fine virtue… but I cannot take much more of this doing nothing – or else I just might loose what's left of my mind (no comments from the peanut gallery…)

Milo has checked in with me, dutifully, twice a day, every day. Mostly, I think, he wants to make sure I haven't offed anyone – and that I'm not sulking in my room all day... No, no I assure him each time we speak, I am taking daily frigging walks – me and my trusty cane… I'm keeping in touch with Dr. Answan (a surprisingly amiable old coot of an Islander whose office smells like brandy and fine cigars. My kind of doc.) I've even begun availing myself of the resort's exorcise room – not that I was ever into the whole body builder routine – it's just that I'm going a little stir crazy and going to the gym is just one more thing to do besides stroll along the beach and read.

"The 'Barillo' Cartel finally has a new boss," Milo tells me, "A guy named Gomez de Jesus. Ring any bells?"

"Nada." But at least it's news… at least it's something… "However – there is an FBI agent – ostensibly retired – who might know more than I would…" I begin…. heh – what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when_ that_ conversation takes place… that thought is enough to brighten my whole day… I hang up with Milo, finish my breakfast and take my book (and frigging cane) down to the beach – I've finished _Body Count,_ and I'm about half way through _Anonymous Rex… _

After a couple of chapters, I take a short walk and then return to the resort to check in with doc Answan (we drink a little brandy, smoke a couple of cigars and I listen to him talk about Life on the Islands… which isn't half as boring as you might think. Remember, I did say old coot…) Afterwards, I head into the dining room for lunch and have my usual. No – my other usual. I am a firm believer of 'when in Rome' – and my usual lunch is some local poultry dish that I have with a shot of spiced rum… dinner of course will be that pig roast… not quite as amazing as pibil… but still quite – nummies.

Still feeling rather good about my day, I head back up to my room to listen to the news…

… and it catches me somewhat off guard when my cell phone rings, just as I'm getting in. Milo's habit has been to phone mid morning and then again in the evening…

"Sands here," I answer, making every effort to keep my tone neutral – in the twenty seconds since the first ring and the time I've answered, I've thought of several reasons for the call; none of them are good.

"Hey there, Cowboy."

Breathe. Just breathe… ok… no panic in her voice… my Christ, her voice… it is just as beautiful as I'd remembered.

"Sheldon?"

"I'm – here – you ok?" I park my butt in the nearest chair before I fall over…

"Milo tells me today's your birthday."

Huh? Oh. Right. I tend to loose track of stuff like that…

When I was a kid, Mom fussed over birthdays (I think she felt guilty because we had nothing – like it was somehow her fault the old man split.) Even after I went off to school, she continued to fuss over birthdays… when I joined the CIA, I finally had all the excuses I needed to stay as far away from my mother's house as possible on – or even anywhere near – my birthday. And, honestly, sometimes I wonder if Mom had ever found out just what it was I was doing with my life, if she really would have made such a celebration out of the anniversary of her bringing my sorry ass into this big ol' ugly world…

"Sheldon?" Beth asks again, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah – yeah, it's my birthday," I manage to pry a few words out of my throat at last… It is so good to hear Beth's voice… but I just – can't seem to speak.

"Cicily would like to say hello."

"Ok."

I listen to the shuffling in the background – and then, "Hello?"

"Hey there," I say to her, barely aware of the smile creeping across my lips. "How's the math coming?"

"Better, I think. I got a hundred percent on my spelling test."

"Well that's good."

"Yeah – but it's Spanish and Spanish is easier than English."

So it is, "Yeah," I don't quite know what to say to her either… when did I get so frigging tongue tied? "How's everything else?"

"Ok. Are you coming back soon?"

"I hope so."

"Me too – here's Mama,"

"Ok – hey – you be good for her, ok?"

"I will," Cicily promises…

More shuffling – and then Beth's voice, "Sorry about that."

"Sorry about what?" I ask, perplexed. It wasn't _that _painful of a conversation…

Silence – no – she's heading into another room, I can hear her footsteps, "That last question. I'm – sorry – you know – she's a child – she doesn't understand."

Understand what…? And why is Beth so sorry about Cicily asking me if I'm coming back soon…? "That's – ok," I tell her. Of course – I am the world's biggest fuckmook – why would Beth honestly _want_ me to come back… except that I gave my word… but – I have nothing else to give her. Nothing she could possibly want – I know who I am – what I am. Ok, _just breathe_, I tell myself again. "It's – good to hear your voice," I say tentatively – I have to feel this out – if she doesn't want me to come back… _if she doesn't want me to come back, I can live with that,_ I tell myself.(Ok, I'm lying my ass off – it hurts like Hell to think about her not wanting me to come back – but if that's what she wants…)

"It's – it's good to hear your voice too, Cowboy," she tells me – just – I can't interpret her tone to save my life. "How are you – really?"

"All right – there's still some pain, but –" I shrug. Nurse. Patient. Ok. I can live with that. "Every day it seems to be a little better," until today…

"I'm glad."

"How – how – is everything?" I just want to keep her talking a few minutes longer…

"All right. Everything seems to be – back to normal – I guess. As normal – as my life ever was. Oh – and Hermano asked me to tell you hello, if I heard from you. You seem to have left quite an impression on him."

I smile, just a little, "Tell him I said 'hey'." And… I don't know what else to say… I don't want to say good-bye… Damn it all to Hell and back… I should know better. A kiss is just a kiss – it doesn't _mean_ anything… You'd think would've learned my lesson by now, wouldn't you? Because let me tell you, bravado aside – it hurt like Hell the day Holly walked out on me… it just didn't hurt like this… _Ok, fuckmook you know what to do…_ _Hell, Beth has had enough creeps in her life… what would she want with one more, anyway?_ "I – should probably let you go – but – it was – it was really good to hear your voice," I say in a gentle tone that surprises even me. Because – I really just don't want to let her go.

On the other end of the phone, there's a _long _pause – then, "I've – missed having you around," she sounds… afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid I'll come back… afraid I'll _never _come back… what?

"I've missed being around," I admit… it just sort of tumbles out – but once it starts – it's too late to go back… "I've missed _you_ – both of you." Yes, I am committing emotional suicide… but… I really don't want to let go… I'm not ready to just say good-bye, not unless she tells me she doesn't want to see me again.

"Do you really think you'll be back soon?" it's that tiny little voice again… and I really don't know what she's so afraid of… I know what she should be afraid of… but she's said she isn't afraid of me. I have to believe that…

"Beth – I am _not_ a nice guy. I'm not a good man. I – I don't even know what happened that night – not really – but – if you want me to come back – I will. I want to – Christ, do I want to – but – but I _am_ a creep, I'm just not the sort of creep who's ever forced himself on anyone. You just have to tell me what _you _want." There it is… all of it. And all I can do now is wait…

Silence.

Fuck. _Ok – ok you laid it out on the line – and she's going to tell you to go to Hell. But she won't ever be able to say you broke your promise – not if she tells you she never wants to see you again… _

"I want you to come back," she says… and…

And, Christ, I really _am_ the world's biggest fuckmook for not seeing – not realizing – sooner… I know what kind of past she has… Beth has made a life long career of… of falling for… falling for all the worst… ok, finishing that sentence would lead to a little more emotional honesty than I'm ready to deal with (hey, at least I can admit it.) "I will do everything that I can to get back as soon as I can – you have my word – it may take me a while – but – I will come back."

"I believe you."

"Ok," I tell her.

"Ok," she echoes – and I can hear the smile in her voice – it makes me smile. Then, "Milo wants to talk to you," she says.

"All right – just – take care of yourselves – you and Cicily – and remember what I said about shooting first and asking questions later."

She favours me with a small laugh, "I will – and – happy birthday, Sheldon."

"Thanks," and… now it is. I even think I can breathe again… just a little.

"Jeff?" Milo's voice.

"Thank you," I tell him, quickly, before losing my nerve.

Milo's chuckle is almost enough to piss me off – mostly because I don't like to be this damned transparent. He knew how much I needed to hear her voice…

"You're welcome," he says. "And – there should be something arriving at your door any minute now – just do me a favour and don't shoot first for a change. This was not easy to arrange."

"What wasn't easy to arrange?"

"You'll – find out."

He was about to say I'd _see_, "Don't sweat it, there, Sugar Butt – I still say stuff like that all the time – and you'd think that of the two of us, at least _I_ could remember I'm blind."

"I'm – like I said before – I just – look – happy birthday, Jeff. I know it hasn't been the best one you've had."

"It hasn't been the worst one, either," I tell him – and – honestly – hearing her voice again – having her tell me she wants me to come back – yeah, maybe it's not such a bad birthday after all... "You talk to Ramirez yet?"

He chuckles, "All business – even though you're the one telling me I need to live a little."

"I just want this shit over with." Because I have a promise to keep…

"I'll be swinging by Ramirez's place after I leave here."

"Ok – hey – do me another favour – you got a picture of this Valverde guy I shot?"

"Sure – why?"

"Show it to Ramirez – see if he recognizes the guy at all."

"But we already know who Valverde was."

"No – we know who _Collins_ says he was – we don't know if was around the whole time, hanging out with Barillo and his band of merry men – or if Collins really did just send him in to 'bring me home.' Because – This Valverde guy sure found me awfully easily if that latter was the case – and he sure wasn't real friendly about it, if his assignment was to just bring me home for questioning. All things considered, I shouldn't have appeared to be much of a threat – even with my reputation."

Milo chuckles, "All right – I'll check back in later."

There's a knock at my door – apparently Milo hears it on his end…

"That must be your gift – remember, don't shoot first."

"I hope it's nothing more than a fruit basket, Sweet Stuff," I say… because something is telling me I'm not quite going to like this… but then, I'm psychotic, not psychic… I hang up with Milo and walk to the door. "Hello?" I say without opening it – yes, there is a gun in my li'l ol' hand, boys and girls. Because not being psychic, I don't know if it's Milo's 'gift' – or some guy in a ski mask come to rub me out…

"Mr. Sands?"

Well – doesn't really _sound_ like a guy in a ski mask – sounds like a kid (male) barely older than my hyper little concierge. "Yes," I reply cautiously.

"My name is Zach – Mr. Givens sent me –"

I ease open the door – and – what is that sound? Heavy breathing? Ok, if this is some sort of bizarre joke, I may have no choice but to blow Milo's nuts off… and not in any way he's going to appreciate… "Yeah – he told me something was coming – but he didn't really give me much to go on," I tell the kid. The heavy breathing seems to be coming from – knee level? What – a midget prostitute? Milo is so dead…

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Givens indicated that this was something of a surprise – I'd like to introduce you to Spencer, if I may, Sir."

Spencer? Sir? What the fuck…

"Spence – say hello," Zach says – and – I feel… a cold wet nose on my hand… the dog nudges my hand until it's under his head. His shaggy – tall eared – big…head…

Ok, I have never had a pet in my life… and Milo goes and gets me a_ dog_ for my birthday? I don't even know how to take care of a goldfish! "Um – I'm not sure –"

"May we come in, Sir?" Zach asks.

"Ah – sure," I holster my weapon and admit them into the room. "Um – look –"

"I am aware of the – special nature of – certain circumstances, Mr. Sands," Zach tells me before I can finish.

"What special nature would that be?" (yep, hand inching towards the Browning again, there kids...)

"You aren't the first – discretionary client – I've ever worked with, Sir. I usually prefer take a little more than the five days Mr. Givens gave me with Spencer – but he came to me already trained as a leader dog and he is truly exceptionally bright. He's picked up on my training very quickly – it'll need some reinforcement over the next week – but I'm sure you'll both do fine."

You ever get that feeling in the pit of your stomach, like there's a cold hard rock sitting right there… I mean… leader dog… as in for the blind… as if the God damned cane isn't bad enough… "Um – excuse me, one moment," I say, with a forced smile (I did sort of imply that I wouldn't shoot the guy…) I step onto the balcony and shut the door behind me. No, I'm not thinking about jumping… for more than ten seconds, anyway. Finally, however, Milo picks up on his end…

"Givens."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"No, that's you, remember?"

"This is no time for fun and games, Milo. I don't know the first thing about dogs."

"That's what Zach is for. He's booked into the room across the hall from you – but you've only got him for a week."

"Who is he?"

Milo's chuckle is infuriating, "Do you honestly think you're the first person who's found themselves in the position to need a helper dog with – how did Zach put it – additional, specialized, training –?"

"Where did you find this guy?"

"Unlike you, I have friends."

"Very funny," I'm not amused – I'm pretty sure Milo realizes this. He's a bright boy – although perhaps not as bright as I thought... I mean – _a dog?_ "What did you do – ask around to find the perfect gift for your blind, maimed buddy?" Resentment – yeah, a little. More than a little.

"Jeff – give it a week. If it doesn't work out – you can send them both packing."

A week. Why does that sound like a frigging lifetime right now?

"Look – what else do you have to be doing right now, anyway?" Milo asks – which doesn't do much to lift my mood.

_Which_ – until less than five minutes ago_ had_ been pretty darned good… "I don't know, maybe putting the squeeze Suarez?" I say. "Or stringing up Collins like a piñata – that sure sounds like it'd be a heck of a lot of fun. In fact, I can think of all kinds of things I'd rather be doing than – _dog sitting_ – while you're down there having all my fun!"

"I know you'd rather be here than there," he tells me – more of that God damned sincerity… "But – just give yourself another week. You're going to need it."

Hmm….. methinks there's something rotten in Denmark… "What are you not telling me?" Because there was something more in his tone than just that fucking sincerity… something – fishy. (Of course, I could just be paranoid… but…)

But Milo has to know I've got him because he waits an awfully long time before responding. "I talked to Marlina this afternoon – she wants you back in Washington."

Remember I asked if you'd ever had that stone-in-your-gut feeling…? Well, I think I just got a whole damned rock quarry dumped into mine…

"It's not what you think –"

"Like Hell it isn't."

"Jeff – listen to me. It's _not_ what you think. I told you what this was about for me – that hasn't changed – besides, I'll be there when you meet."

"It's not you I'm worried about," I tell him honestly – because – I've been through just enough shit with Milo to almost be able to believe he hasn't _knowingly_ set me up… 'knowingly' of course being the key word. "And what do you mean, you'll be there – I thought you were staying in Mexico to 'be my eyes' there."

"I'm going to leave a couple of people here – and I won't be gone long – but – frankly I don't want to leave the two of you alone together without a chaperone."

"Why – which one of us don't you trust?"

"Look – Jeff – she's not going to screw you over – needs you too much."

"What – why?" Marlina Eddas needs _me_… he has got to be sampling the local hooch…

"Without you she'll never nail the guys at the top. And – if you think _you're_ having a hard time with this – imagine how Marlina Eddas must be feeling, _needing_ a guy like you."

Ok – that one makes me smile. And damn him, Milo knows just how to play with my buttons (keep your comments to yourself, there, kids)…

"Marlina thinks you're right about squeezing Suarez – but Suarez isn't giving me shit to work with down here. However – if you put in an appearance in Washington – it should start to shake things up a little. Then I come back – see what there is to see – maybe our boy Collins starts to feel a little insecure about his position in all this – and – and we see where it goes."

See where it goes – I don't much care for the sound of that… "I'm just a little concerned about_ how_ she wants to take me back." I mean, it could shake things up just as easily if I'm in shackles and a Hannibal Lector mask…

"If I'm wrong – if this is a set up – I'll break you out of prison myself."

I almost laugh. "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

"I know you don't do trust – but – try to have a little faith. I gotta go – I just got to Ramirez's place and it looks like he's home." Milo hangs up without further adieu – not that I don't know the drill. You see your target, you go.

I lean over the railing and take in the scent of the ocean… that song is still in my head… the one about the sailor… if I don't somehow clear my name, I'm – I'm going to be that guy who never comes back and I know it.

_A little faith_ – the only things I have faith in are – hmmm – me, myself and I. And my angels… but… but Milo and I have been through just enough shit that I can almost trust him to keep that promise about breaking me out of prison if it really came down to it… (which of course tells me just how much he believes it won't – as I've said, he's a straight arrow… er… whatever.)

And then there's the thought of Marlina Eddas actually _needing_ me – man, that has got to gall her… not to mention that it puts me in a position of – well, not _power_ (I need her too and I fucking well know it) – but at least it would move me from a position of serious disadvantage to some kind of equal footing. And I like that a Hell of a lot better than where I thought I was… _have a little faith,_ he says… Right.

Ok. Dog sitting. One week. I give it a week and then send Fido packing, right along with his trainer. And, honestly – what else _do_ I have to do but sit around, twiddle my thumbs and stew…

I step back into the room. I hear – both human and canine breathing.

"Would you like to begin now, or in the morning, Sir?" Zach inquires politely.

"First things first – drop the 'Sir' – it makes me twitchy. It's just Sands."

"All right."

I sigh. "I suppose there's no time like the presant." At least I'll be able to tell Milo that I gave it an honest whirl before sending Zach and Fido packing… although, I have to tell you, as we get started, it feels like _I'm_ the one being trained…

…When Milo (finally) calls me back, he tells me just how _thrilled_ Ramirez was to see him – seems ol' Jorge has had enough of the CIA to last a lifetime… that makes me smile, despite the rest of my grumbles. It makes me smile even more that Jorge was able to not only identify this Valverde guy as one of Barillo's goons, but he has some information about de Jesus that might prove useful... I'm a bit less gleeful about the fact that several other people have been to see Jorge recently – including more CIA, FBI, AFN and the local fuzz. It appears yours truly has become a rather popular boy in Mexico… which means I really was right to leave Beth's when I did… (and it probably also means that if I'm going to shake things up a little, I'm better off doing it from D.C. – assuming Eddas really isn't planning to bring me back in chains…)

"You should go shake de Jesus' tree a little, just to see what falls out," I suggest to Milo, keeping my darker thoughts to myself (you know, things like Eddas putting me in an orange jumpsuit and cuffs.)

"First thing in the morning," he assures me. "And no, I'm not going to fart around with de Jesus. I might think a few things need to be cleaned up back home – but I still know how to get the job done."

"That's my boy," I grin at him through the cell phone.

Then asks me about Fido…

"We're – getting along," I reply. The dog is, in fact, sleeping at my feet. Zach tells me that the more time we spend together, the better the 'bonding' will be – whatever that's supposed to mean.

"Give it a week. Zach came very highly recommended," says Milo.

"Just as long as you're sure about that whole discretion thing," is my response to that – I really don't like having some stranger invading my space.

"Have a little faith – I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Ten-four and out, good buddy," I quip back in an intentionally horrible imitation of a trucker. I go back to my book, trying to stay awake as long as I can… Sleep means dreaming… and I know I'm going to have dreams about orange jumpsuits and Hannibal Lector masks… but… maybe the waking up part won't be so bad (because it's the waking up that's been getting to me more than the actual nightmares.) Because even though I'll still wake up alone and in the dark… at least now I know that there's an angel out there who wants me to come back to her… and that makes all the difference in the world…

Finally – exhaustion takes hold of me – I get up and head towards bed, Spencer in my wake. He curls up at the end of it – and – maybe he isn't _so_ bad to have around.

…I won't bore you with the banal details of the next week – Milo shakes de Jesus' tree – nothing much falls out – but there are a few other tid-bits he's following up on while I twiddle my thumbs in the sun…

Not that I'm _really_ doing much thumb twiddling now that I have Zach and Spencer to keep me occupied. Apparently, there's a lot more to this leader dog thing than I'd thought – but – Milo was right, it at least gives me something to do, something to keep my mind off prison cells and angel's wings… (without going into wholly inappropriate detail, my better dreams have taken a decidedly erotic bend… and I am not complaining... as for the others – yep, orange jumpsuits…)

Mid way through the week, Zach tells me we're ready to go into town – which seems to please him (guess Fido isn't the only quick study…)

We take the resort's courtesy car, to the "main square" – fountain, tourists, townies, buyers and sellers of various and sundry goods (and services) – you get the idea. Replace the mariachis with steel drums and it's similar to Mexico – but at least the air doesn't smell like old sweat socks. I'm not sure who's being put through their paces, me or Spencer – but I will tell you one thing: people are (annoyingly) helpful when they see a guy with a cane – but when that same guy with a cane also has a great big German Shepard, they give a little God damned elbow room. So, I suppose if I have to go back to D.C. to shake things up a little, maybe I won't send Fido packing after all… because now I can walk down the street without people tripping over themselves to be fucking helpful.

And in case you've been wondering – that specialized training… it seems Zach makes quite a nice little living for himself training helper dogs in additional duties, such as attacking on command and drug and bomb detection… Spencer didn't have enough time with him to learn the latter two – but I'll settle for attack and several of the commands that go along with it. (There is, I find out, a wee bit more to it than just 'sick 'em!')

At the end of the week, Zach leaves me with his phone number (on a business card in Braille, no less) and tells me that if I need any additional assistance, I shouldn't hesitate to call, _especially_ once I 'get back to civilization'… apparently he's never been to D.C.


	16. Mr Sands goes to Washington

**cptn-jacks-bonnie-lass**Thank you! That phone call between Sands and Beth was really important to me… he so needed to be reminded that he has someone out there who really cares about him… and to finally figure out just how scared _she_ really is. (Boys… sometimes you just need to hit them over the head to get them to 'see' the obvious!)

I'd also like to say a thank you to those who haven't reviewed, but have put this on your fave story or update-alert list! That is as much of a compliment as the many kind words of my reviewers – so – thank you! I appreciate it that you want to come back and read some more.

**Chapter Fifteen:**

_Mr. Sands goes to Washington _

Four days after Zach leaves, Milo arrives. That's four days more than I'd expected him to take – four days longer than I wanted to wait… but it's four more days for me to get healthy. And while I don't think I'll be tripping the light fantastic any time real soon (yes indeedy, I know how to dance, thank you Greta Sands) those bullet wounds are swiftly becoming little more than an unpleasant memory… too bad I can't say that about the – other injury... But – what I said to Milo is true. He could leave me to rot here on this island for the rest of my life – they'll never grow back. I will never see again… Which is why when Milo 'shows' me what he's brought, I have only his word to go on…

"Black suit – because, I'm sorry, Jeff, nothing you had in your suitcase is going to cut it anywhere but the third world."

"What's wrong with my cloths?" I feign ignorance.

He just laughs – I'm sure he's shaking his head at me. "There's a vest that goes with it – it's dark grey with red pinstripes – black shirt – because I know you – and a red tie – and I see you've had your boots polished," there's approval in his tone.

"If I'm going to go down, I want it to be with my boots on," I tell him with a wicked grin. Now, I feel the need to clarify something for you: I _do_ own a couple suits – even if I seem to have lost track of the jacket to my brown one (which wasn't one of the better suits anyway)… but I do clean up quite nicely – or at least I know how to.

Still chuckling, Milo places something in my lap – it isn't quite wrapped – but it's in a bag… it's kind of big, but lightweight… "I'm almost afraid to ask," I say.

"It's from Beth – she said to tell you happy belated birthday."

Just the sound of her name does something to me (something – something I don't fully understand.) However, without further hesitation, I take the thing from the bag – and begin to feel what it is… I'll be damned. "Tell me it's black," I say of the cowboy hat. I slide it onto my head – a perfect fit… my angel. She really does understand that I'm the bad guy; I don't really need Milo to tell me it's black – I know her.

"Apparently she knows you too well," I can hear the warmth of his smile. "You know – she's an amazing woman, Jeff."

"I – I know that." I think I let more slip into my tone than I probably wanted to… but – I know how incredible she is. I just don't – I don't honestly know why she wants me to come back. But she does. And that is all that I really need to know.

Milo breaks the not quite uncomfortable silence by telling me he's also procured for me a couple more dress shirts – all in dark colours – dark grey suit and a couple of ties. "Sorry, no trout or bowling pins," he tells me of the ties.

My tie collection, you see, runs along the same general lines as my t-shirt collection (remember I said I _know how_ to clean up – I _didn't_ say I did it very often…) "You hate my wardrobe that badly?" I ask him, counterfeit-hurt lanced through my tone.

Now I'm sure he's shaking his head, "Get dressed – we have to be on a plane in two hours."

"We?" I hadn't quite been expecting to fly in together…

"I've checked the passenger manifest four times – it's clear. No one knows I'm here – no one knows you're here. We'll separate on a layover in Miami – and I'll meet you in D.C. tonight – here," he places something in my hand.

Keys… "Where we gonna meet, there Big Boy?" Poor Milo – I don't know why he puts up with me, I really don't.

"A friend's condo. He said you could use it while you were in town – he's going to be out of the country until after the New Year."

"A friend, huh?" I tease him.

I do believe – yes, I think that blush is almost audible…

"Yes, a _friend_," he tells me – just a little too emphatically.

"Uh-huh. Spill it, Romeo – or is that Juliet?"

"Go take your shower – we have a plane to catch," he tells me in mock exasperation – yes, I actually do know Milo well enough to know the difference between real exasperation and the fake stuff he's usually laying on me.

I stand and snag up my new duds, "So you're saying I'm really not going to be greeted by U.S. marshals the minute I set foot on American soil?" It's only half a joke.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Tomorrow morning Marlina will meet us for breakfast – and then – I go back to Mexico while you hang out in D.C. and shake a few trees."

"Peachy keen, jelly bean," I take myself into the bathroom… and call back out to ask Milo if he'd like to come in and wash my back… his response probably shouldn't be repeated in polite company… but it gives me something to laugh about.

…So – the long and the short of it is that by lunchtime, I'm in Florida. Alone. In the dark. Just a blind man and his dog…

See, this is where it gets scary. Because even if I _do_ trust Milo – and – I do, at least as much as I trust anyone –_ **this**_would be the ideal time and the place for them to come get me, assuming he really isn't in on it. (And that would be any"them" – because there are plenty of "thems" who want me – and not in any way I particularly want to be wanted.)

I have no gun (not even a crotch piece), as airport security is a bitch these days – well, I'm not saying I blame anyone for being jumpy, if they'd been jumpier before the fact, it might not have happened... Which is neither here nor there – here and there is me without a gun, without my badge (I'm traveling under an assumed name) – without so much as a fake mustache or a wig because Milo seemed to think that that might be a Bad Idea… He muttered something about his old high school drama department having better quality wigs I've got… I honestly don't know _what_ he was trying to imply…

But it all goes towards leaving me feeling completely naked as I step off the plane and into the great big black unknown… with what feels like a million other passengers (Milo went on ahead of me, leaving me here, all by myself...) Deep breath. I strain to hear the sounds of men with guns coming to get me… but so far, everything seems normal. Fucking crowded – but normal.

Spencer gets me to the terminal in one piece – I decide to wait until I have a little elbow room before snapping the cane together. And I'm still waiting for those U.S. marshals to come swooping in, clap me in irons and haul me away in an ugly orange jumpsuit… no trial, just an angry judge banging a gavel, shouting at me about small dark cells and keys being thrown away… But… so far all I hear are around me ordinary people, just trying to get to wherever it is they're headed. A friendly lady asks me I need help finding my way – I smile and tell her that I'm fine, thank you…

Next stop: customs. This is not the place I want to be acting jumpy – so I do my best to banish all thoughts of orange jumpsuits and angry judges… Deep breath – give Spencer the signal to move us forward – I find someone and ask directions – they are kind enough to walk me right to where I need to go. How nice. One more breath...

And – honestly, this is hardly the first time I've ever been through customs on an alias. In fact, I'm pretty sure I do more traveling under assumed names than I do in my own name… so much for racking up those sky miles… so really, this should be a regular walk in the park… I wait my turn, continuing to remind myself just how easy this part always is… still no marshals swooping… just a nice customs agent seeing my disability and making every effort to get me through as painlessly as possible… expeditiously, even.

"Have a good holiday, Mr. Crane – welcome home," says the customs agent – male – not really noteworthy otherwise… holiday? Oh. Yeah. Right. It is isn't it… it's Thanksgiving weekend. No wonder there are so many fucking people traveling. They're home for the holidays and all that crap.

Spiffy, maybe after getting settled in, I'll _see_ about 'seeing' my sister… oh won't _that_ be just as much fun as a barrel full of monkeys. (Sarcasm, kiddies, sarcasm… but I suppose I _should _find out why she's been so hot to get in touch with me. My best guess is that she's either extraordinarily pissed about my dropping off the face of the world for four God damned years – or maybe dear old Dad has decided to put in an appearance and she doesn't know quite what to do with him – especially if he showed up on her doorstep with some sort of sob story. I kinda hope it's the latter… the ol' trigger finger gets a little itchy if you don't work it once in a while…)

Despite that decidedly jolly little thought, however, I ask another passerby if they could kindly direct me to the terminal's convenience outlet; I've been dancing on razor blades for almost twenty-four hours and I am in some serious need of something to settle my stomach. I didn't sleep at all last night – I haven't been able to keep anything down – and it's all nerves. I may lay it on for Milo, so he doesn't know – I may even lay it on for myself… but after the Day of the Dead, I'm having a hard time believing in happy endings – or even slightly happy endings… especially when I keep expecting to have U.S. marshals swoop in and take me away.

Of course, my need to do something to do about the over abundance of acid in my gut leads to a whole new set of dilemmas… allow me to explain:

Now, indulge me here – imagine yourself walking into a small convenience store in the middle of an over-crowded airline terminal… and not being able to see a fucking thing. What are you going to do – feel your way around every shelf until you find what you_ hope_ is a bottle of Maalox? There's no way to know for sure, everything really feels about the same in the dark – and only the absolute bare necessities of life are labeled in Braille. (Which I suppose is a good thing – I'd hate to wander into the little girls' bathroom by accident… not that I've ever had the desire… not that I've never been in a lady's bathroom. It ain't all that exciting, guys, trust me…) so back to the current dilemma… the one making me feel so fucking pathetic.

I have no choice but to ask someone to assist me… and _then_ I have to actually **_trust_ **that they're handing me to what it was I asked for, rather than giving me a bottle of drain cleaner to swallow – and trusting a total stranger only makes my stomach just that much jumpier – ergo, it kicks out more acid. It is an absolutely vicious circle, my friends, an absolutely vicious circle…

I make my purchase – a careful sniff assures me that it isn't Drain-O, so I gulp down a good half the bottle and find a place to park myself. I'm not sure how much better I feel. I have over an hour to wait for my flight out of here. So – with nothing to do but grow a new ulcer and twiddle my thumbs… I decide to try something new. Since I can't people _watch,_ I decide to kick back and people _listen. _And – I must say – it is almost as satisfying as being able to see…

Some while later I hear the call for my flight – still no marshals… Spencer and I make our way to the gates… we get on… no fuss… just a very nice flight attendant whom I _think_ is flirting with me (which proves how effective the dark glasses are…) and in no time at all, I'm in D.C… (Which I should remind you is a good twenty degrees colder than Florida… but there doesn't seem to be any snow on the ground yet. Bummer. No – I meant that one, I wasn't being sarcastic – for a change. I know, how are you supposed to tell, right? But no, I like snow. I'm not sure how I'm going to feel about it being blind and all… but we lived in Michigan for a while when I was a kid and the thing I liked the most about it was the snow… I honestly meant it when I said I wish they'd sent to Alaska instead of fucking Mexico.)

Now, if you have ever been to Washington D.C., you'll understand what I mean when I say it is one of the most dangerous places on earth. I'm not just talking about it having the esteemed honour of having been named the Murder Capitol of the U.S.A., a few years back – I'm not even talking about the recent terrorism that still has everyone (understandably) jumpy. No, I'm talking about the everyday mayhem – which is only slightly lessened by it being a national frigging holiday.

You cannot walk down any street in downtown D.C. (is there a suburban D.C.? If there is, I have yet to find it) without fear of being plowed down by a crazed bicycle messenger, run over by an irate foreigner posing as a cabby (do you know lucky I am that I speak eight or nine languages?) or just plain getting tromped to death in a human stampede. Ever try stepping into your favourite D.C. Starbucks at nine a.m. for a cup of coffee? Forget it. And I _dare_ you to enter any deli anywhere near lunchtime – you'd have an easier time robbing Fort Knox than you do of getting yourself a sandwich. And Zach referred to D.C. as _civilization_…? Ha. D.C. is a fucking jungle… but one thing it has plenty of – buzzards – er, cabs… I meant cabs, really I did.

Even so, with the volume of holiday traffic it actually takes me a few moments to find myself a cabby. I tell him in his native tongue where I'd like to go – because I really do not want to be dumped off at the wrong street corner – and finish my Maalox.

My Pakistani cabby gets me to my location without incident and wishes me a happy holiday – I mutter something unintelligible back at him and shove some money into his hand (Zach taught me the trick of folding bills in different ways… I really wasn't the first blind guy he's worked with – lucky me.)

And still no marshals. And if they didn't nab me at the airport… maybe… maybe? Maybe I'm really going to be ok…?

I take a nice deep breath and listen to the world around me very carefully before stepping away from the taxi – nothing out of the ordinary greets my senses. I shoulder my bag – Spencer's lead in one hand, (frigging) cane in the other… and off I go into the wild black yonder… again. I'm getting almost used to this part – the not knowing where I'm going – not knowing what's going to pop out at me next… I sweep the ground in front of me with the cane checking for uneven pavement – of which there is none – and I listen to the sound of my own steps – my heart beat – and for anything else that might prove interesting. No marshals. No guys in ski masks… nothing but the sounds one might expect to hear, just traffic, a few voices… there's a couple walking down the sidewalk behind me – talking about the upcoming holiday (their first Christmas together, how sweet… yes, that one was sarcasm)… oh yeah, a few birds twitter away at me from a tree I pass under…

Three steps take me up to the porch – Milo should be here already – yes, yes, that _is _music I hear beyond the door – and I would recognize that shit Milo listens to… well, gee, I guess I'd recognize it blind. (Disco is dead, ladies and gentlemen – let it die. Please? Just because Milo hasn't let it die – let it die.) I try the door – unlocked. "You home, Sugar Butt? Or did you just leave the stereo on just to annoy your neighbours?"

"In the kitchen – um – four steps in – to the left."

His directions aren't quite as precise as Beth's… but I manage not to break my neck – or anything else – even as Milo comes rushing to my aid. "Something smells good," I tell him – I put enough sarcasm in my voice so he won't know if it's a compliment or a criticism… it does honestly smell good – but somebody has to keep the boy on his toes. "Need a hand in the kitchen, there Sweet Stuff?" I drop my bag literally at his feet.

"Uh – I've got it."

I laugh, "What, you don't trust a blind man in your boyfriend's kitchen?"

(I have this mental image of him standing there in a polo, Dockers and an apron – like the sort a chef might wear… I could be totally off mark, he could be nude for all I know… oh what a shivery thought… somehow I'm sorta glad I can't see him if that's the case…. Yes, my mood is improving now that I'm back in what I perceive to be friendly territory.)

"Here – let me – help you get acquainted with the lay out – " I feel his hand on my arm.

My Christ – he is fucking dancing on razor blades! (Or maybe I just got used to Beth's easy manner… even when I was being a prick, she wasn't this edgy around me.) "Milo – I'm fine," I tell him – no scathing tone this time. I kneel down and find the release to undo Spencer's harness – his cue that he's off duty for a while. I can tell that Milo is still – fidgety…

"Sorry – I just – I'm sorry, Jeff."

"Would you knock it off already," I tell him. "Or have you forgotten how easily I pinned your ass to a wall?"

I hear a snort of laughter, "You got the jump on me because I had no idea you were – injured." Despite his attempt at joviality, there's a – pain? – underpinning his tone…

"There aren't any new developments I should be aware of now, are there Sweet Stuff?" You know, you haven't double-crossed me since I saw you a few hours ago… because – I want to believe I can trust Milo, but… but. My life is one big "but" right now – and I frigging hate that. It makes it really difficult to maintain any kind of good mood…

"No – no new developments. I really _am_ your friend – and – as crazy as it's going to sound – you're one of the few people I've ever said that too. I don't trust anybody either, you know."

"And yet you trust a twisted fuck like me?" I almost laugh.

"I said it was crazy – but – you know how it goes – can't trust anybody on the inside – and nobody on the outside understands. You're one of the few people I do trust."

My mind is churning this over and over… something's up. I don't like it when something is up…. "Old time's sake doesn't count for shit, remember?" I stand (yes, I was actually kneeling there, giving Spencer a good petting this whole time… it's just a part of the training, kids. I'm not getting all soft and mushy over a dog.) "Guys like us can't afford the luxury of friendship – no matter what kind of nightmares we manage to survive together."

"I told you a lot of things – six years ago – stuff I've never said to anyone else."

"It was twenty six days of torture and uncertainty – we both said a lot of shit – shit we wouldn't have said to any one, under any circumstances. And – you could have been stuck there with anybody." It really was just dumb luck…

"You're right. Not just anybody would have – would have gone out and gotten drunk with me afterwards – especially if they already knew as much about me as you had - before."

I manage a small laugh; what I'm really doing is trying to figure out what he's driving at… because I really did believe him when he told me he was helping me now because I jumped in and helped him sixteen years ago... although, I guess – maybe it does. I have no idea what kind of crap he has to put up with for being gay. "Look – Milo – as much fun as this really is – I need a drink – so – if there _is_ a point, could you just come to it already?" I fish out my pack and light up a cigarette. Milo presses an ashtray into my hands… thank goodness for small favours, the owner of this hacienda smokes. Or at least he has friends who do.

"I guess I'm trying to come up with a way to tell you that when this is over, I'm getting out, retiring. And – I was kind of hoping you wouldn't disappear into the woodwork on me – because I've haven't ever been able to let my guard down around anyone else enough to get drunk with them – even before – getting into this line of work."

"And you see what getting drunk with me got you, now didn't you, Sweet Cheeks?" I tease him – mostly because I really just don't know what else to say… the thought of Milo turning in his badge and gun is just fucking unbelievable… "Come on – we both know real agents never really retire."

"You were right – what you said before. I met someone. This is his place – and – "

"Does he know what you do?"

"He knows. He works out of the same office as Marlina Eddas – that's how I met her – and how I know I can trust her."

"Ah-ha, the lights go on at last," I grin at him. Truth is – truth is I'm happy for Milo. When we were huddled together in that cold dark cell, some six years ago, we talked about the sorts of things we'd do when we got out. Believe me, at the time it was with the certain knowledge that we'd never see the light of day again… but you tell yourself whatever lies you have to, to make it through in situations like that. The one thing Milo said he regretted about his life was not having someone to come home to. I tried to tell him that guys like us don't have homes – we don't have wives/husbands waiting for us – don't have anyone to notify when we die (because for us it's not an 'if', it's a 'when')… but he is a stubborn little fuck and just would not believe me. "So how long you two been together?" I ask him.

"Three years."

I just smile – there isn't much to say. I am _not _going to admit out loud that I'm happy for him… "So – you got anything to drink in this joint?"

"Why don't you let me show you around first – then we can get drunk."

"Sounds like a plan, Sugar Butt – but I take no responsibility for my actions once you've inebriated me."

He just laughs – I take up the cane in one hand – as much as I hate it, it is useful – and put the other hand on his elbow for the grand tour.

The lay out is fairly standard – kitchen is off to the left, dining room to the right. There's a half bath down stairs – upstairs there are two bedrooms, a master bath – and a very reasonable little guest bath where I set up my personals. (A third bedroom has been converted into a library – not that that room will get much use while I'm here...)

We share a light dinner (that while quite good, wouldn't put Milo's life in any danger even if I was calm enough to do more than just pick at it)… Then Milo drags me out shopping, because if I'm going to hang around here for any length of time, a winter coat is in order… and the order of the day, boys and girls is a black leather duster… yeah, I know, how very – me. Black may not be my favourite colour – but I look damn good in it… I pick up a couple other items – some blue jeans and pullovers (Milo steers me _**way** far away_ from the t-shirts… I cannot imagine why… but he does let me buy a couple of western-style shirts and a fedora – although I don't know how much wear it's going to get, I like having more than one hat on hand.)

And bless his sweat heart, Milo's even found me a bookstore that carries books in Braille. (I really do prefer reading to listening – I need to be actively engaged in – well whatever I'm engaged in… )

The _only_ reason I get any sleep that night is because I barely slept last night and Milo plies me with copious amounts of brandy when we finally return to his beau's pad (at which point I finally get him to 'spill it')…

Morning comes entirely too soon… see, as much as I want to get this over with – I still dread it because I know that _this_ is it – even if she needs me, Marlina Eddas has my life by the balls – and she has got to know that. This meeting will tell me if I have a life left to worry about – or if it's going to be orange jump suits from here on out. But I promise myself that I will not go down without a fight – and I dress accordingly. The black suit – with the a new black vest I picked up yesterday – no tie – but a dark purple shirt, with the first few buttons undone – cowboy hat – boots – shades – and of course Spencer at my side. I can quite clearly see myself, in my head – and I rather like the image…

And thusly, I walk into the diner, just behind Milo… And I think I can almost _hear_ Eddas' grim appraisal as we approach her table…

They exchange warm pleasantries and then Milo makes the introductions.

"Mr. Sands," she seems to be making every attempt at friendliness. Bravo for her…

"Councilor," I intentionally hold out my hand a few degrees off from where I know she really is.

Eddas compensates without a word and gives my hand a firm – brief shake.

We sit – the waitress comes – without even trying to sort out the menu, I ask if I can get a couple of eggs over with bacon and coffee… coffee. Every time I order a cup of coffee now, I think about Belini… what I wouldn't do to have that fake arm again, just so I could have the satisfaction of having a gun trained on Eddas, without her even knowing about it… not that I really think Milo would let me get away with something like that. But it's a nice thought… nice enough to get me through the small talk we're engaging in while we wait for our breakfast to arrive. (Being not particularly good at small talk, I'm mostly quiet.)

"I don't trust you," Eddas says to me, as our plates are being cleared away.

(My stomach isn't happy about being forced to hold food – but I have never been one to let the other guy know they had me over a barrel – even when we both know that to be the case.) I shrug, "I don't trust anybody. Guess that makes us even." My tone – my whole manner, in fact – remains as blasé as it was through out breakfast. Never let them see you sweat.

"I just want you to understand that if you screw me over –"

"You'll what – make sure I never see the light of day again? Lady – someone beat you to it," I tap at the glasses. "Or did you think these were just for decoration?" My voice has taken on a dangerous edge… never show fear, either – not to an enemy. Not even to a friend. (Next to me, I can feel Milo becoming very uncomfortable – although he's probably glad he decided to chaperone this little meeting – and that we're having it in a public place.)

"I'm not discounting what happened to you, Mr. Sands," she tells me in an even tone – although it's pretty obviously a struggle for her to keep it even. "I just want you to be absolutely clear on my position before we go any further."

"Look – we both know that I am the scum of the earth. I get that. I get it loud and clear – and frankly, I have never disputed the fact that I _am _the bad guy." I suddenly wish I'd worn my t-shirt that proclaims just that "So – let's just get on with it, shall we? What exactly are the terms and conditions of this little arrangement we're entering into?"

"I am prepared to offer you_ full_ immunity in exchange for proof that you were set up by Officers Collins and Suarez. Officer Givens has kindly offered to assist in the matter – and I am comfortable with that." Her tone is all business.

But… I wait. I know there's more – she just doesn't want to say it… which makes me _very _curious. And I can't tell you how much I need a fucking cigarette right now. It's not just the nicotine I crave, it's the very act of smoking that relaxes me… but Milo tells me there isn't a smoking section from here to the Potomac. (I would so love to shoot everyone involved in making smoking such a fucking sin these days.) "And?" I finally prompt.

"And – I know this – situation – goes up at least as high as the congressional level. I just can't prove it – yet. But with your – assistance – I think I can. So – in addition to immunity, I'm also giving you this," I hear her slide something across the table – sounds like an envelope, you know, the big yellow kind…

"Um – seeing as I'm a little sight-impaired – mind giving me a clue?" I don't even pick it up. I wonder if Milo knew this was coming – I'm not hearing anything from him to give me any clues whatsoever… damn.

"As of this moment, Mr. Sands, you're an investigator in my office. Do_ not_ make me regret this."

I think that last is directed at Milo and I collectively… because he's the one who talked her into believing in my innocence… well – innocence and Sheldon Jeffrey Sands don't _quite_ go hand in hand – not that I think you need _me_ to tell you that… but I know you know you know what I mean. "Any special reason you're bringing me into your office?" I ask her… other than to keep an eye on me, that is…

"I've taken care of the warrants – at least in this country. I can't do anything about the Mexican government wanting you. However – as an investigator for my office you shouldn't have any further trouble with any U.S. law enforcement agencies – so long as you play everything by the book and don't break any laws. And – I may be able to – use your unique insight into several other matters while I've got you in my office."

In other words she's going to find some busy work for me, so I'm not tap dancing on her last nerve eight hours a day… but maybe she'll arrange a cute assistant for me (hey, I can't see, but I can sure fanaticize)… "Ok, I'll buy that – but I'm going to need you to get me an expedited permit to carry a concealed weapon."

I think she just dropped her spoon… "I beg your pardon?"

"Surly your hearing is better than my eyesight, Councilor."

"Jeff – " Milo's tone is one of warning…

I cut him off, "You two both want me to play by your rules –_fine_ – I'll play by your rules. You just have to get me that permit on the double – because I'm packing heat," I grab Milo's hand and give him proof… I'm not sure which one of them is suddenly more uncomfortable, her because of my seemingly outrageous request – or Milo because I've just reminded him how fast – and how sneaky – I really am. He had _no idea_ I was packing…

"Just – get it for him," Milo says in her direction – and I'm very sure I can imagine Eddas' expression as she realizes that I am truly going to be a pain in her ass.

"And I _will_ be crossing state lines," I inform my new boss. "But if you ask me real nice, I'll get you the serial numbers off each of my weapons and even a discharged bullet, if that'll make you feel any better about the man with no eyes toting loaded firearms across this great land of ours." Sarcasm? Moi? Oh, I'm serious enough – I'll do it – if nothing else, it'll be an excuse to get to a firing range because let me tell you with the amount of pent up frustration I'm feeling right now, I am ready to do some serious shooting… and my eggs just were not good enough to warrant taking out the cook.

(I can almost _hear_ the look she's giving Milo – they're probably both wondering if I haven't truly lost it….)

With calm deliberation, I stir my coffee and set down the spoon. In a very calm voice, I speak: "I took out three armed gunmen less than an hour after the little 'incident' that left me blind. So – if you think that blind equals helpless, think again, Sister. Oh – and I didn't take out any 'innocent' bystanders while I was at it – just the bad guys." Fuck, do I need a cigarette.

There's a brief silence in which I wonder if I crossed the line… but…

"You will keep me apprised of your movements at all times, Mr. Sands," Eddas' tone is ice. "And you are absolutely **_not_** to leave the country for _**any** _reason whatsoever, without my – _prior _knowledge."

Oh good, it looks as if Milo's told her that I just do not respond well to authority figures – yeah, sarcasm – but I also realize she's making the attempt to meet me half way (by insisting on "prior knowledge" rather than "consent")… I favour her with one of my more charming smiles. "Sure thing, Doll-face." (I do know that I happen to need this woman. Christ that galls me – but it's got to gall her worse that she needs me – and she _must_ need me or she wouldn't be making this much of concession.… there is satisfaction in that.) "Now, what about the boys back at Langley?" I inquire – because somebody's bound to get pissed about all this…

"I have an appointment with your director on Monday. You will accompany me – and follow my lead. When you're asked to debrief, you'll leave this meeting, Officer Givens, and our arrangement out of it. Other than that, you should give them a full accounting of everything that happened in Mexico."

"_Everything_, Doll-face?"

"I am very sure there are details you've left out of your reports hitherto fore, Mr. Sands," she tells me in a tone that quite clearly betrays her annoyance with me. "Whatever those details happen to be, I am really quite certain I'm better off not knowing about them. As you said yourself, you _are_ the scum of the earth – and if I'd had _any_ illusions otherwise, thirty minutes in your company was more than enough to convince me that you've earned every reprimand in you file – and then some. So – when you debrief on Monday, you should give whatever official report you would have given, had things not gone awry."

"And when they ask why I'm arriving in such esteemed company?"

"I brought you in because your agency failed in its obligation to retrieve you from what had become a hostile and volatile situation. As for how I got you out – tell them to come see me."

Talk about wanting to be a fly on a wall… "Ok. I can dig that. Anything else I need to know?"

"I want your superiors to come away with the impression that you've been working in cooperation with my office for longer than – four days. Think you can handle that?"

"With my eyes closed." Yes, I know what I just said… so does she. Hey, you get called a prick and a scum bag often enough, you learn to milk it for all it's worth… besides, I know what she's really asking me to do. She's asking me to put my neck on the chopping block right where Milo's would be, if anyone 'back home' ever thinks they've had a rat sniffing around the ol' cheese. I owe Milo that much. Besides, I've got way bigger teethe than he does… (which doesn't necessarily mean that he likes this – I'm entirely certain we wouldn't be having this little teta tet if he'd had any idea what she was going to ask of me.) I just smile. "Fair enough. And in the mean time?"

"Do whatever you would normally do when you come home. It'll take me at least until Monday to get you a permit – so – just try not to shoot anybody with any witnesses around."

My chuckle is cold – maybe I won't hate working with this woman so much after all… I hold my hand out to her – dead on to where I know she is, "Then it looks as if we have ourselves an accord, Ms. Eddas."

She takes my hand, but she still has something more to say to me: "I have put my whole life into my career – I can and _will_ make your life very unpleasant if you screw me over."

"I only screw over the people who screw me over," I tell her honestly, while still gripping her hand – no, not being a prick, just making a point… which I guess is sometimes the same thing… but not this time. "I _know_ you have something to gain from this – more than you'd gain by hanging my sorry ass out to rot in some federal pen, somewhere, far away from civilization. But believe it or not, I know how to play ball – I just usually chose not to. This time, however, I have a good reason to play by the rules. I want Collins and Suarez flapping in the wind the same way they left me – and there are times when death is just a little too easy." And _that_ is what I want her to shake on… and she does.

"Milo will give you my cell number – I'm staying in town over the weekend. Try to stay out of trouble."

I just chuckle… yeah. Right. I know just what I'm doing with the rest of my weekend…

--------------------------------------------------

I force myself through another day  
Can't explain the way today just fell apart like everything  
Right in my face  
And I try to be the one  
I can't accept this all because of you  
I've had to walk away  
From everything

I'm afraid to be alone  
Afraid you'll leave me when I'm gone  
I'm afraid to come back home

Another sleepless night again  
Hotel rooms my only friend  
And friends like that just don't add up  
To anything  
And I try so hard to be everything  
That I should never take away from you again  
'Cause I heard ya say

I'm afraid to be alone  
Afraid you'll leave me when I'm gone  
I'm afraid to come back home

I cannot forget  
I live with regret  
I cannot forget  
I live with...

I'll live through this  
I can't see through this  
I can't do this anymore

I'm afraid to be alone  
Afraid you'll leave me when I'm gone  
I'm afraid to come back home

Afraid you'll leave me when I'm gone  
I just wish I was back home  
Home

-Staind


	17. Thicker than Water

Wow! It wasn't until I cut and pasted this chapter into a separate file for uploading that I realized how long it was! No wonder I felt a little tired after I was done polishing it ; ) Well – hope everyone enjoys this one … because, yes things are_ really_ heating up for our favourite CIA officer – and in more ways than one…

And as always **thank you** so much for the kind reviews! They are truly appreciated.

**Chapter Sixteen:**

_Thicker than Water…_

At last… a _cigarette_. I inhale – I think I can actually _feel_ the nicotine going to work on my jangled nerves. I'm leaning back against the cold rough brick of the diner wall with Spencer sitting next to me. Inside, Milo is saying his good-byes – and probably a couple of other things as well. I take another long drag… I have a future. And it doesn't include orange jumpsuits. That is quite possibly one of the happiest thoughts to flit through my head since… since I left Mexico…

And I'll be damned – I think a snowflake just landed on my cheek. I smile.

Behind me, the diner door opens with the clanging of a cow-bell… Milo and Eddas… she bids me a happy holiday – a sentiment I return with a little more sincerity than I think she expects (I imagine that probably scares her a little – God, I love being me) – and then I hear the sound of her high-heeled boots clicky-clacking down the sidewalk.

Milo is silent for several long moments – I just let him chew over whatever he's chewing over… I'm happy to stand here, smoking my cigarette with snow falling down around me. Milo finally locates his voice:

"I had no idea that was going to be part of the deal."

"I know."

"You didn't have to agree to being a scapegoat, Jeff."

"Honestly, if all she'd wanted was proof that I'd been set up – in return for the kind of immunity we're talking about – I would have never believed her. At least this way the deal is equitable."

"I'm glad someone thinks so."

"I'm perfectly happy with the terms of our agreement. Eddas gets what she wants – and I get what I want – what I need." I get my ass out of the sling I seem to have found it in… and I get my revenge. I also may get to have a little fun along the way – because I am _so_ looking forward to Monday morning… but in the meantime… "Come on – I need your help with something."

"What kind of _something_?"

Hmmm… seems like there's something in my tone making him a wee bit nervous… or perhaps, it's just that wicked little smile I can't seem to keep off my lips….

… … … …

"Are you sure you want to do this on your own?" Milo asks me. Again.

Outside, my cab has just pulled up… I brush my hair back with one hand and settle the black cowboy hat into place. Beth. My little angel –she knows I'm the bad guy – a demon compared to her. She has no illusions… I was never in a position to hide myself from her. And yet – she wants me to come back to her… to them.

And I have a future... Oh sure, it's not going to be easy – but when has that ever stopped me? And in the meantime… _just do what you would normally do…_ well what I might _normally_ do would be to go to a strip joint, have a few beers and… and you can let your imagination wander to wherever you feel like letting it wander, amigos… but that just isn't what I feel like doing. I can't see anyway, so what's the point anyway?

"I can take care of myself," I tell Milo. "Besides, I have Spencer, here," I take the lead and step out into the falling snow (since I'm already pretty comfortable with his front walk, I keep the cane tucked into my coat pocket).

Milo is following close behind. Ever the gentleman, he opens the cab door for me. "Don't you think you should at least call first?"

"What – and spoil the surprise? Not a chance," I grin at him. See – it turns out my sister has moved in the last few years. No longer does she live in Roanoke (a little over four hours from here) – no, now she resides just twenty minutes away in Coral Hills, Maryland (doesn't that just sound like such a peachy keen little community?)

"Jeff – it's Thanksgiving – "

"My point exactly." I motion for Spencer to hop into the back of the waiting taxi and then slide in after him. "Besides – shouldn't you be making that run to the boarder sometime soon?" I know he's left 'his people' there – but I'll feel just that much better when Milo is back in Mexico to handle things personally.

"I'm taking the red-eye – so it really wouldn't be any trouble for me to –"

Cutting Milo off, I say a quick hello to my cabby – listen to his accent – and then in that Eastern European dialect Milo and I heard a little too much of a few years back, I assure him than I'm not going to shoot anyone, honest. I _am_ packing heat – there are just a few too many people who want me dead for me to be walking around unarmed these days – but just because I've _got _it doesn't mean I'm going to _**use** _it I'm not real sure he's convinced.

"If you need me for anything –" he sounds just like a worried mother hen, I swear…

"I have you programmed on speed dial, Snookums," I smack my lips loudly, blowing him a great big kiss. "And – I _promise_ you an evening you won't forget when I get back home." I have entirely too much fun messing with other people's heads… not Milo's – the cabby's – because I can just imagine the looks he is giving us… it's all I can do to keep a straight face.

Milo just sighs – poor guy. I really do feel sorry for him, putting up with me – but – he was the one who said he didn't want me vanishing into the woodwork when this was all over… I'm honestly still trying to digest that. I don't know why anyone would want me around.

"Here," Milo hands me the bottle of wine he filched from his beau's wine chest earlier – apparently, he thinks it would be rude of me to show up both unannounced _and _empty-handed.

Like my sister would expect anything other than rude from me. But to make him happy, I take it – oh Christ, he managed to wrap a bow around the bottle when I wasn't paying attention… fucking A – but I just keep on smiling. "I promise I won't stay late," I say to Milo.

"Just try to behave yourself."

"I'll be good," I tease him, pulling the door shut. "Onward, Jeeves," I say to my driver – he's Hindi, by the by. I've always been good with accents – both identifying and mimicking them. And – would you believe I picked up enough conversational Hindi _just_ so I could converse with cabbies? I give him the address and sit back to try and enjoy the ride.

I miss driving. I miss getting behind the wheel of my car and just – going. (My car was probably been stripped for parts weeks ago – unless it was a causality of the failed coup… ah well, it led a good life. It took me all over Mexico – my beat. I don't miss Mexico – not the dust or the stench – not the people – but I think I miss the food. Pibil is far and away the best preparation of pork I've ever eaten – and I have had pork all over the world, because it truly is my favourite food. Everywhere I go, I sample the local pork recipes – and pibil knocks them all just right out of the water. Spicy – tangy – sweet – tender – just a little smoky – exotic… but not so exotic you that don't know you're eating. I think I'm going to have to find myself a shop around here that stocks the necessary ingredients and make myself some real soon. Cooking really is like fucking… and I am very good at it…)

By my reckoning, it's just past noon as we pull into the quiet suburban neighbourhood where my little sister has taken up residence. I get my cab driver to clearly identify which walk leads up to her house – and I stand for just a moment listening to the world around me. I hear a few cars – mini van – hmmm – SUV, maybe… something smaller – and further off, I can hear the highway… birds twitter – dogs bark – a couple of kids whiz by on their bikes… I even smell the scent of fireplaces going… welcome to suburbia…

I wish my cabby a good holiday (what can I say, I'm in a mood) and decide to leave the cane in my coat pocket. (I want to see how long it'll take Alison to realize I can't see…)

I give Spencer the signal to move forward and he guides me unerringly up the walk – yes, it was really hard for me to learn to trust in him at first – but like I said, I'm getting better at boldly going forth into the darkness… but – Christ – five steps up the front porch? And that third one wibbles just a little – Spencer parks his butt – and I know the door is just in front of me. I knock. And wait.

I don't have a long wait… "Can I – help you?" asks a male voice… very slight Hispanic accent (I suppose it would be rude to shoot the guy _just_ because he's Spanish… oh who am I trying to kid? – I am seriously tempted to waste him where he stands, despite my good mood and my promise to Milo… However,this isn't Mexico and I have the feeling someone might notice the body sooner rather than later. And I'll just bet the local fuzz's response time is nothing flat…)

I force a smile, "Is this – is this the home of Alison Sands?" or perchance do I have the wrong fucking house because of course I can't really see the address for myself… I hate trusting other people to steer me in the right direction.

"Um – yes – who are you?"

So – it looks like my little sister has herself a boyfriend… how sweet… and oh yes, that _is_ a turkey I smell singeing in the oven… that has to be Alison's handiwork. See, Mom didn't teach us to cook – so – um – let's just say that between my sister and I,_ I'm_ the one you want in your kitchen, even though I'm the one who can't see…

I hear footsteps approaching from within… "Tom is that your – oh – _my - **Christ!**"_

"Happy Thanksgiving," I thrust the bottle of wine in the direction of my sister's voice. She doesn't take it right away.

"You're – **here** – ?" It's now _quite_ a question – but it isn't really a statement either… guess I've really rattled her cage this time.

"Your powers of deductive reasoning never fail to amaze and astound, Sis," I reply with a wicked grin. And – you notice that she hasn't invited me in yet? At least she finally takes the bottle from my outstretched hand – her grasp on it seems a just wee bit shaky.

"Wait –_ you're_ the brother?" Says the boyo. I definitely do not like his tone.

However, I extend my hand in the direction of his voice, and in an exaggeratedly friendly manner, "What a pleasure it is to meet you – Tom was it?" I have no doubt that my sister sees right through my congenial façade… "Sheldon – Sheldon Jeffrey Sands." I tell him, as he grips my hand firmly in his – I intentionally hold back – I prefer to be underestimated. His grip is pretty good – but – there is something to be said for being wiry, fast – and oh yeah, I always hit below the belt.

"Tom DeSantis."

Hispanic name to go with an Hispanic accent… Isn't that just ducky. Now – I know it's wrong of me to judge an entire fucking culture on the last few years of my life… but come on – couldn't she have hooked up with _anyone _else? Italian, German, Oriental, African… anyone but a guy who's ancestors hail from Spain…

"I got a telegram last week," Alison's voice has taken on a frosty edge. "From – your company – they said you were missing –?" her tone suggests she thought I was dead… who knows, maybe she hoped that I was…

And from her choice of words, I discern that the boyo doesn't know who I work for… well, I suppose telling one's boyfriend that your big brother is a spy isn't really the best way to open up a conversation. "Slight debacle in communications for a while, there Sweet Cakes," I say in a casual tone. "I'm afraid I wasn't getting my messages. It's been straightened out."

"Well – we have a lot to talk about," says the boyo – he sounds – yes, uncomfortable, about something…

I 'ignore' him and 'look' in my sister's direction, "We do?"

"Oh yes we do," she tells me… hmmm I'm not real sure I like _her_ tone either…

So, without waiting for an actual invitation I step inside, brushing past the boyo (Spencer follows – when I stop, he sits). I stop right in front of my sister without any doubt that I've invaded that 'comfortable space' people aren't supposed to invade. It wasn't an accident. I favour her with a little smile – so far neither of them seems to realize I can't see a damned thing – ain't life grand? I pull off my hat, coat and gloves and hand them over to my sister.

"When did you get a dog?" Alison asks – her tone is flat.

Well, there's a bet I would have lost – I was sure her first comment was going to be the hair. See – last time we actually saw each other (well, last time she saw me, because of course, I'm not doing any actual seeing just now… but I'm still having fun) anyway, before they shipped my ass off to Mexico, my hair was a five inches shorter than it is now. I open my mouth to reply – but I am cut off…

Now – I must digress a moment here to describe something to you in its full and glorious detail. Have you ever heard a cat being strangled? Perhaps while the unfortunate feline was raking its claws across a blackboard? Maybe having it's tail pulled at the same time, because what we have going on here is sort of a – yowl, meets screech, meets – hmm… there are just no words in any of the languages I've had the privilege of learning that quite fully capture the true essence of this sound… but with any luck, you get the idea.

No, no – it isn't the sound made by any humans as a result of anything nasty I am about to do. It is, rather, a sound (because I cannot in good conscious call it 'music') that suddenly resonates through the house, originating, I do believe, somewhere above my head… although truth be told I might be hard pressed to find the source of the 'sound' simply because I really have no desire to get that close to it… "What in God's name is that?" I say just loud enough to be heard over the ruckus… I hazard the guess that someone somewhere _might_ call it music because it does seem to be accompanied by the sound of a piano keys being struck… although the pianist has all the subtlety of a bull elephant.

"Oh that," Alison's voice takes on a painfully sweet tone – you know the one, it tells you that you are_ not_ going to like the answer you're about to receive… "That would be Emma. You know Emma, don't you, Shel?"

Oh.

Shit.

Fuck.

Damn.

Hell.

I open my mouth to say – what…? I really just don't know. I truly thought I'd been prepared for anything she could possibly throw at me… _this_ however is the one thing that never even crossed my mind…

Alison still seems to still be speaking… "Or at least I hope _**one **of us_ knew you had a daughter – because I sure as Hell didn't."

"Um – I can explain –" Right. Sure I can. Well – I mean – I'm sure she knows the basic mechanics of procreation, but…

"_Emiline!"_ Alison bellows over the – cacophony.

Fuck.

"Al – " I try to stop her. I'm not prepared for this… I mean –_ really_ not prepared for this…

"Oh no you don't, Sheldon," her tone is one of warning. "This is not something you're going to leave in my lap – not the way you've left everything_ else_ for the last fifteen years."

"I – didn't – I never – "

"_Like **Hell** you didn't!_ You went off gallivanting around the world and left me to take care of _everything_ at home. The bills – the doctors – Mom, everything. Even after she died – you still couldn't be bothered."

"I would hardly call what I do _gallivanting_, Al – besides I sent you money." I sent her a lot of money… and it wasn't as if Mom didn't have insurance… I know better. Christ, why does Alison always have to be such a God damned drama queen?

"I put my life on hold to take care of Mom when she got sick, Shel – you could have sent me Fort Knox and it would never make up for you not being here when I needed you."

"You never told me she was that sick –" I say – she didn't. She never said 'Come home' – I mean, not that I would have – but – I would have sent her more money – God knows I've spent enough of my career taking other people's dough… hey, only the bad guy's, remember.

"She had a fucking heart condition – she couldn't work – she had four bypass operations – Sheldon you should have figured it out! You never even picked up a phone to call and tell her you loved her – even if it was a lie, it's something she would have liked to have heard, just once, before she died."

"Alison – you're over reacting."

"Oh, fuck you, Sheldon. And - you're going to have to deal with _this_ because this really is all you. **_Emiline! _**"

"I'll go get her," the boyo finally says.

(I half wonder if he just doesn't want to get away from us… I _knew_ I should've popped him when I had the chance… too late now…) I hear his footsteps retreat down the hall… up some stairs…

"Alison – you don't understand –" I begin.

"Well – you're right about that."

The shrieking and piano banging ceases.

Oh fuck – ok, I have to get out of here just long enough to pull my wits together – because getting into a screaming match with Alison over Mom hasn't helped me get a handle on_ this_ situation one bit… and I really need to get some answers to the hundred and one questions buzzing around my head… you know, like what the Hell is my offspring doing here… I slide my arm into Alison's, "We need to talk."

"We will." She assures me in that sugar sweet tone of hers.

Fuck.

I listen – footsteps above my head – and here I thought I was walking around with a rock quarry in my gut yesterday… and my sister is not budging.

"Alison – now."

"In a minute."

Two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs… the conniving little bitch – Alison has been _planning_ this… for – for three months (I'm guessing, but I know I'm right) she's been plotting for my inevitable return…

"This ceased to be amusing about thirty seconds ago," I warn my sister… too late.

The footsteps stop – my best guess is that they're not quite at the foot of the stairs (which are maybe five feet from where Alison and I stand, judging by the sounds of boyo's earlier retreat.) I hear a very feminine gasp – and can't quite stop myself from turning my face in that direction and forcing a smile (which probably looks pretty forced)… my kid… is less than five feet from me… only one set of footsteps crosses the distance between us – and it isn't Emma… I can't begin to imagine what she must be thinking…

"Oh my God – you're – " Em doesn't finish it – not because I specifically cut her off (in fact I'm still busy collecting my wits) – no, no I firmly suspect that Emma just doesn't know what to call me. Or at least I hope her youthful vocabulary hasn't expanded to include those sorts of words…

"Hi there – I'll be right back – promise. Spencer, come." And I give Alison a not so gentle shove to get her moving – I feel boyo's hand on my shoulder. "Alison – would you like to tell this jerk what happened to the last boyfriend who tried to get fresh with me – or shall I?" There is no mistaking my tone – I am not fucking around here. In fact, the only reason I haven't shoved a gun in the ass-wipe's face is because Emma's in the room… what an absolutely fabulous first impression I must be making… I turn my head in Emma's direction and try to smile a more real smile – I want to say something to her – but – nothing is springing to mind… oh well, hopefully someone, somewhere along the line told her what a dick her old man really is… Christ, this is too fucking surreal…

"First off, buddy, I'm her husband, not some boyfriend – and secondly – if that's some sort of threat, I should probably tell you that I'm a cop."

"Oooh – I'm so impressed." Christ, I wonder if they've spawned…

"Back off, Tom," Alison says –

He still hasn't released his grip on me – "Ally –" he begins.

Ally?

"Please," she implores – I can imagine her big brown puppy dog eyes…

He lets me go.

"Now – somewhere private if you please," I growl sweetly into my sister's ear, giving her a good shove.

Humans are funny animals – you give them a suggestion and a nice shove in any ol' direction and they'll usually take you just where you wanted to go – and in our current arrangement, Alison probably still has no idea I can't see. Spencer, true to his training walks on the side, hovering close to my legs, effectively preventing me from bumping into anything… and of course, Alison just thinks I'm being a dick, with that vice-hold I have on her arm. She takes me through what I guess is the living room (deep, soft carpet, very posh) and down a long hall – hard wood floor – no obstacles (and I remember to count my steps through both the living room and hall) before propelling us into a room and slamming the door shut.

"You have some fucking nerve, Sheldon," she seethes at me. "And you'd better have a fucking brilliant explanation this time."

(Hey, I said she'd think I was being a dick – I never thought she was afraid of me. Alison knows I would've done great bodily harm to that husband of hers without a second thought – but I've always stopped just short of actually hurting _her_.)

"I was a little tied up, Al." I fish my cigarettes out of my jacket pocket – I offer her the pack first.

"I quit – and can't you even come up with a new line? You're starting to sound like a broken record."

I listen as she moves around a little – opens a cupboard – and then returns – taking a stab in the dark (ha-ha – no, really, I meant that…) I reach towards her – ashtray. I nod my thanks. "Look – just tell me what Emma's doing here, alright?" By now I'm quite adept at getting a cigarette lit without being able to see what I'm doing… although the nicotine isn't doing much to settle my nerves just now.

"Three months ago this lawyer shows up on my doorstep with Emma – and who is Emma – why, she's my brother's daughter – my niece," Alison's tone is ever so sweetly acerbic. "I'll bet you can imagine my surprise, because _surly_ I would know if my **_only_** sibling had a child. You had fifteen years to get around to mentioning her to me, Shel. And yet – you didn't."

"It's – complicated."

"It's always complicated with you. Tell me, didn't it ever occur to you – in fifteen years – that I might like to know I had a niece?"

"Eleven."

"What?"

"She was four before I knew she existed – so technically I only had eleven years to get around to mentioning her to you."

"That's still a fucking long time."

"So why exactly is Emma _here_? Where's Holly?"

There is a very long pause from her side of the room… I don't like very long pauses… I like them even less when my sister's tone shifts from royally pissed to something – softer.

"You mean you_ really_ did know?"

"If I _knew_, I wouldn't be asking, now would I?"

"Shel – she's – she died. Three months ago – something about lupus related complications – Sheldon?"

Died. I don't hear a whole lot past that… other than… lupus…?

"Sheldon?" Alison asks again.

"I'm ok," I lie. I feel like a ton of bricks has just landed in my lap… oh, wait, I'm still standing. Damn… "We – we weren't close," I tell her. "I – haven't really spoken to her since – she told me about Em."

"What happened?"

I shrug – what can I really say? "It was just one of those things – I – I had no idea she was sick. She never told me." Or at least… I don't think she told me… I haven't checked my P.O. Box in three God damned years… but… she had to have known before that… Lupus isn't like a car accident, it doesn't just hit you out of the fucking blue, there are symptoms… and… and I just cannot wrap my brain around Holly being… _dead…_ gone. No more amongst the living…

I mean – I know death happens.

It's a part of life.

People die.

Sometimes guys like me help the process along… no regrets…

But – _Holly _wasn't supposed to die. Not _now_. I mean – I know – knew? she'd die eventually… but – but she was supposed to live happily ever after, first. She was supposed to forget all about me, get married and move to the country, have more kids – have – have the sort of happily ever after I wasn't willing to give up _my_ goals for… and just look where that got me…

And…

Emma.

Christ.

_Christ on a crutch. _I'm not ready to wrap my brain around that either. Not now – not with the state my life is in. "What about Holly's family?" I ask my sister.

"I don't know – the lawyer said I was all she had. Seems he couldn't find you, either. What a shock."

"I really wasn't getting any messages." I take a long drag of my cigarette – it's just about spent. I stamp it out and hand her the ashtray – I listen carefully to where she puts it down. "Got anything to drink around here?"

"Well I see some things never change," her tone is one of exasperation.

But I hear her moving around – the familiar sound of a bottle opening…

"Do you even realize what day it is?" Alison queries.

"Thanksgiving."

"That's right – it's Thanksgiving," she shoves a glass of something into my hand.

I don't even sniff the stuff to see if she's feeding me brandy, scotch or drain cleaner… I might almost prefer the latter… but no it's – whisky? Not my favourite, but it'll do.

"It's Thanksgiving and I have Tom's family coming over in less than an hour – which is fucking stressful enough because they've _never_ liked me. And now, now I have –_ that_ to deal with – because – well – imagine how well my ultra conservative Catholic in-laws are going to receive your charming offspring. And for crying out loud Shel, would you take off your sunglasses already? I'm getting sick of talking to my own reflection."

That… she just described my daughter as 'that'… "What's wrong with Emma?"

"What's _wrong_ with her – are you blind, Sheldon?"

"Um – well – yes. Actually – I am."

"Oh Christ, don't be an ass."

"I'm not trying to be," this time.

"I don't have time for your fucking head games – not today, ok? _Please_ – I'm about to have a house full of people – and half of them don't even speak English."

"I'm terribly sorry to hear your in-law troubles, dear – but – I really am quite completely blind."

"You're serious?" she doesn't sound entirely convinced.

"'Fraid so."

"What – happened – I mean – " I hear about three seconds of what might pass for compassion – then, "Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, _you **fucking** asshole_ – I can't believe you would pull your shit on me – **not** today."

"Ahh –" is about all I get out before she explains her outburst:

"You're armed."

I can only assume she's caught a glimpse of some of that heat I'm packing, and she thinks I'm playing her… because in case you hadn't picked up on it – well, you know what kind of man I am. What makes you think my own sister was ever exempt from my machinations, just because blood happens to be thicker than water? Sure, I took care of her – I protected her – I got even for her – I even loved her (despite her accusations about my not being there with Mom) – but when it suited my needs, I used Alison without a second thought… without regard for her feelings and certainly without remorse… And… the acknowledgement of that simple truth is like a seed; I don't think much of it now or in the moments to come, but later… later it's going to come back to haunt my ass… "Alison – I'm serious this time. My shit finally caught up to me – "

"I swear one of these days your shit really _is_ going to catch up with you – and then – "

And then fingers graze the top of my nose – I feel Spencer come between us but – I make a grab for her hand anyway – and my hand curls around thin air… and holy fuck she's managed to dislodge the glasses, yanking them right off from around my ears…

I swallow hard… but at the same time, I tilt my head in her direction so she can get the full effect… she wanted to see. _Fine_. Let her see...

Alison doesn't quite scream… but there is a very sharp intake of air… and – a sound escapes her lips. Shock? Disgust? Probably.

…I let my hand fall back to my side… it rests lightly Spencer's head – he tried. He did his job – she just caught us both off guard.

I listen to my sister stagger back away from me muttering something unintelligible… but her horrified dismay at my appearance is obvious even to a blind man… and it's honestly all I can do to keep the rein on my temper. I hadn't _wanted_ Alison to see me like this… no, that's not pride, or even vanity talking. It's the fact that despite everything, she _is_ my little sister. Up until I left to pursue my own – well, shit – _I _was the one who took care of her. I inspected her closet and the space under her bed for monsters. _I_ protected her from the Chet Wheatons of the world… I protected her from all the no-good boyfriends – I just – wasn't fast enough to protect her from her own curiosity…

"Alison!" That's the boyo, banging on the door. Guess that intake of air was a little louder than I thought – or he was hovering. My money is on the latter…

"I'm fine," her voice betrays her – she is anything but fine…

"Do us both a favour, don't hurl," I say in a low, cold voice – there is a lot of bitter anger in my tone. Her reaction is really no worse than Milo's… he just managed to hold himself together a little better, but he's a God damned CIA Officer… she's just a civilian… that's why I wanted to keep this from her… (I really can quite clearly imagine the expression of revulsion on my sister's face… and that thought makes _me_ want to hurl – or go shoot someone… and still somewhere in the back of mind there's Beth – who never reacted like this… Beth who took care of me and held me in the dark… My angel… ) "Think I could have those back now?" I ask, without bothering to mask how I feel (hurt and angry – but mostly angry), "Or do you need to gawk a little longer just to be sure you're seeing what you_ think_ you're seeing?"

"What – what happened?"

"I would think that was reasonably obvious, there Sweet Cakes." I reach out – yes – she puts the glasses back into my hand. She's trembling.

"Alison!" Boyo again. This time he opens the door… (I turn my back to it – and him.) And my little baby sister surprises me…

"I said I'm fine," she tells the boyo in a tone that could put the chill in ol' Jack Frost's bones.

"Alison?" he asks, clearly perplexed by her tone.

"Get out, Tom. _Now_."

I hear his silent – swift – retreat – well, at least he isn't a moron. Even _I _wouldn't have argued with a demand in that tone of voice.

There is a long, cold silence – then: "Sheldon – I – I don't know what to say."

"So don't say anything." I feel around and find a chair in which to park my ass. I feel – dragged out. I light up another cigarette – even though she said she quit, I offer the pack to Alison again – and I'm not entirely surprised when she accepts one. "Sorry, I know you hate these," I mutter – and ever the gentleman, I hold the lighter for her. I listen as she gets her cigarette let – then put the lighter back in my pocket.

"That's – I never would have guessed – " She sits in a chair – or at least I guess it's a chair – a few feet to my left – apparently there's a table between us – I hear her shift the ash tray to it – glass on glass. "Shel – was it – was it some kind of – accident?"

My snort of cold hard laughter should enough to answer her question – but – that question just strikes me as so stupid that I have to answer it anyway, because really, does _this _look like an accident to you? "I _saw_ too much," I tell her; my tone is acrimonious. "Someone wanted to make sure that didn't ever happen again."

"I – I don't understand."

"Think about it."

I listen to her swallow – I can imagine the gears turning. "Who – would – do something like that?"

"Do you _really_ want the details, Alison?" Because I'm just about angry enough to give them to her.

"I – no."

"I didn't think so."

"But – you're armed."

"Yep, I still have those," I wiggle my hands at her – no response – she's apparently not in the mood for one of my stupid jokes. "Yes – I'm armed. I'm always armed."

"Are you still – with – the CIA?"

"That's a long story. I just got back into the country. How about another drink?" Because my glass has been empty for quite a long time…

She takes the glass – refills it – I'm pretty sure she's pouring one for herself as well. I seem to have that affect on people…

I fish my new ID out and pass it over to her when she hands me my drink.

"DOJ?" Alison questions.

"Yeah – funny, ain't it?"

"I – no. No, it isn't funny, Sheldon. Look – I'm sorry – it's just – you show up on my doorstep without warning after four years of silence – not that you were around much before that – but – but it's been Hell around here for the last three months."

"My life hasn't exactly been a church picnic either, there Sugar."

"No – no I guess not. When – when did it happen?"

"La Dia de los Muertos – November second."

"My God – that's – less than a month ago – you're ok?"

"As ok as I'm going to be. So – about the last three months?" Because it hasn't escaped my notice that Emma's been here three months…

"Well – I guess – I guess you really _didn't_ see her–"

Alison's voice catches – which doesn't spare her from a sarcastic, "Gee, ya think?" out of me.

"Sorry."

I wave her apology aside; I'm pretty sure she's just having a hard time wrapping her brain around what she saw when she ripped the glasses away from my face… "You were about to tell me about the fruit of my loom –?" I prompt.

"Emma is fifteen. She wears spray-painted combat boots – striped socks, fishnets – a lot of black – flannel – ripped denim – her hair is – short – mostly. Black – but with – long pieces just sort of sticking out here and there – they're dyed dark purple and blue. Since today is a special occasion, she's graciously given in to my request to dress up – although I suppose I should tell you that your daughter's idea of a dress is what most of the rest of us call a slip – literally. Satin, knee length – spaghetti straps – dark purple. But at least she's wearing it with a jacket – the thing looks like it came out of someone's old hippy closet – lace, velvet, fringe. You with me so far?"

"I – think so." My brain is trying to assemble the picture… it doesn't mesh with anything I had ever imagined…

I know that a lot can happen in three years, but the last letter I read – the last picture I saw – Emma was this beautiful little girl with long blond hair and big brown eyes. She was getting straight A's and was a pleasure to have in class. Holly included a little note to tell me that Em was in soccer, taking martial arts – and that she was still in ballet (that would have been her fifth year – and all I could think of at the were broken toes… I've had my toes broken… it is no fun, let me tell you. I came very close to writing Holly back asking her to dissuade our daughter from going any further – but I stopped myself. I mean – what little girl doesn't dream of growing up to be a ballerina? Who was I to tell her no? I survived having my toes smacked by a ball pin hammer… I'm none the worse for wear… at least any breaks Emma sustained would be in the course of something she obviously enjoyed... and I _trusted _Holly's judgment…)

I listen to Alison put out her cigarette – and offer her another – which she accepts, before going on. "Emma wears more eyeliner than Siosxie Sioux and her favourite shade of lipstick is black – although dark reds, purple and blue seem to have their place too – same with the nail polish. Her eyebrow, belly button, lip and tongue are pierced – if there's any more, I don't want to know about it. Oh and that's_ two_ piercings in the eyebrow – the left one. The lip thing is in the dead centre of her lower lip – just below the lip – I don't know what they call those things. And if there are any tattoos, I haven't seen them – but I'm not discounting the possibility."

My Christ. I trusted Holly's judgment… "Ears?" I inquire, just out of curiosity.

"Oh, those are pierced too – it's just that that's so tame compared to the rest of the package. And – honestly, Shel, I could ignore the package if I could find any way to like what's inside."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"Sheldon – Emma is – disruptive – rude – she's – she's impossible to live with – we can't control her – she wants nothing to do with us. I don't trust her around my children."

"You have children?"

"Don't sound so shocked."

"I just – you never struck me as the motherly type."

Her laugh is cold – hard. Yeah, like I've got a lot of room to talk…

"What exactly do you mean about not trusting Em around your children?" I ask.

"I mean – I don't think she'd hurt them – but Tom isn't so sure. She has a couple of knives – I suppose that doesn't sound like much to you – but – but – I'm at the end of my rope, too." I can hear the exhaustion in my sister's voice… "I've got a two year old and an infant – Jocelyn is barely a month old. She was born almost four weeks premature – which could have been worse – but – it's been Hell – and – Emma has been a big part of that Hell."

"That's why you've been trying to get a hold of me." My brain is trying to wrap itself around what went wrong… three years ago Emma was going to be a ballerina… and now…?

"Sheldon – I – I_ am_ sorry, but she cannot stay here."

Oh – fuck me – not a chance…

"I – I – hadn't expected – what happened to you – but – that still doesn't change the fact that she's your daughter – your responsibility. And – I mean – it's not like you're going back into the field. So – I don't know – maybe it's – I mean, this way you won't be alone."

"I can't."

"Bull shit."

"I am in some serious shit over here, Alison. Maybe in a few months, once things have settled down –"

"No. She's _your_ kid – _your _responsibility. I – I put my life on hold once already – but – that was for Mom. I towed my half of the line and yours too – but this – this is all you. She cannot stay with me – I have my own family to take care of."

"For Christ's sake, I lost my eyes – do you think you could give me six months to pull my shit together –" cut me just a _little_ slack… I light up another cigarette.

"You know – if it were anyone but you – maybe I could. But I know you too well. In six months you'll have vanished off the face of the earth again – maybe with some story about how you're up to your neck in some new shit, because with you it's always something – or maybe you'll just vanish without any word at all. Neither would surprise me."

"Alison – I _can't_ take her – not right now. Not won't – **_can't_**."

Silence. Then, "Fine."

"Fine?" I really don't like the way she just said that – I take a very long drag off my smoke.

"Fine. You're here – you can sigh the paperwork."

"_What_ paperwork?"

"Tom and I have discussed this. We cannot keep her. There is no other family. You do the math."

"No." She _can't _be serious…

"You have two choices, Shel. You take her. Or the state does – because I _have_ tried. This isn't some sort of creative revenge," she adds – Alison knows how I think. "This is me telling you that I can't handle that child. My husband is a police officer – and _he_ can't handle her."

"She's fifteen – how fucking hard can she be to handle?"

"Emma is failing almost every one of her classes and not because she's dumb. She just won't go to school – we put her on the bus – we've tried dropping her off – bodily – in her first-hour class. I've tried to be her friend – tried to be 'the adult' – tried everything there is to try. Short of sitting on her all day, every day – actually going to school with her – there's nothing we can do to keep her there. Her teachers don't know what to do with her – her councilors don't know what to do with her – her principal doesn't know what to do with her. I don't know what to do with her. And it wasn't like we didn't try, Shel. It was a Hell of a shock – but – Tom and I both tried to – to make her feel – welcome, at home. We let her have the room we were going to put the baby in – let her re-decorate because no fifteen year old is going to want to live in a pink room with My Little Pony curtains – and I honestly didn't know how long it was going to take to get through to you. And – the poor kid was literally _dumped_ on our doorstep with nothing but a lap top – two cats – _the_ bird – and a duffle bag full of cloths I'd be ashamed to donate to the Salvation Army."

"'The' bird?" I ask – just the way she said that… should I call it _El_… and Rod Serling _is_ lurking around here somewhere, right…?

"I think it's a raven. Big black ugly thing – at any rate, we know she didn't get it from a pet store. Tom is a cop – but – I talked him into letting her keep it – and the cats – he hates cats. But – she'd just lost her mother – and Jesus, she has _you _for a father – I felt sorry for her."

Guess having me for a father makes Emma the charity case of the century... "Look – I'll talk to her – get her to straighten her shit out – just give me six months –"

"No, Sheldon. I don't trust you. You have two choices. Period."

Fuck me. But good. "Give me five minutes. Alone."

"I should go tell Tom – what _should_ I tell my husband about you?"

"That I'm staying for dinner." I light up another cigarette…

------------------------------------------------------------

Emma was listening to (and making sure the rest of the house heard) Diamada Galas – who's musical style is truly difficult to describe. The description Sands gives is pretty much what ever member of my family has to say about it…

Although Sands will never see him, I've cast Benjamin Bratt in the role of Tom DeSantis…


	18. The Apple Doesn't Fall Far

**Captn-jacks-bonnie-lass:** First – so sorry to hear about your phone! How absolutely awful. I'm glad I could be of some service to make your day a little better after something that. As for Alison – I knew she wouldn't come off as a terribly sympathetic character… but I just kept thinking about what it would be like growing up with a guy like Sheldon Sands for a big brother… honestly, I imagine Alison has spent the last few years in therapy. (LOL) And about their mother's death – I touch on it a little in this chapter (with his assessment that by then she was a grown up and shouldn't have needed him) – but the "real truth" can be found somewhere in between her version of what happened and his… pretty much like in real life when you come to those "he said/she said" moments.

**Chapter Seventeen:**

_The Apple Doesn't Fall Far… _

All right.

I have a daughter. I knew that.

But now she's here.

**_Here_. **

In this house.

Probably less than a hundred feet from where I sit trying to digest this particularly unexpected turn of events… trying to figure out just what the hell do about it… about her…(Hell, she's probably wondering the same damn thing…)

_And why is Emma here_, I ask myself – she's here because instead of living happily after like she was _supposed_ to, Holly had to go and die – leaving_ me_ the only person Emma has. Other than my sister and Sheriff Roscoe, there – and they want to ship her off to some state run home because they can't fucking handle her. _A fifteen year old._ They're adults. With two children of their own – and oh, I just can't _wait_ until those kids hit puberty. I hope I'm around to "see" how well Ally and Roscoe do when they don't have the option of just shipping the problem off to someone else – when they have to actually deal with something more pressing than whether they should paint the living room ecru or eggshell…

Christ. My sister is a suburban housewife… well, I don't know that for sure. She might still be working – or planning on going back when the baby is a little older… I can't see her turning into June Cleaver… but maybe I don't know my little sister as well as I thought I did. I certainly didn't think my request was too much.

All I asked for is six months – six months, just to get my shit together. I gave Alison my entire childhood – but of course, she's still sore because I wasn't around when Mom was dying. Christ on a crutch. Alison was a grown up – she was old enough to fend for herself. She shouldn't have needed me anymore. She should have just fucking handled the situation. Apparently, she hasn't gotten good at handling anything… not if she can't handle one fifteen year old. Maybe she really has turned into June Cleaver…

Fuck me, but I don't know how _I'm_ going to handle this – but – but there is _no way_ I'm going to just sign my own kid away to the state. How can Al even think I would? How can she… how can she think I'd run out on Emma the way our old man ran out on us? (Does she really think so little of me…? I admit it, that stings, just a little… I know I'm… I'm_ me_, ok? But – my Christ, I gave Alison everything I had for almost fifteen years. I mean – ok, so I used her too – involved her in a few adolescent schemes, usually without her knowledge – but she never got hurt. Even now – well, you saw, she's not afraid of me. Do you really think I'd let anyone else talk to me like that?)

I need a drink – but the only thing around here, it would seem, is whisky. I hate fucking whisky, I really do… and Alison knows it. I stamp out my cigarette. I have to… to what?

Emma_ is_ mine… but oh fuck me… I'm not ready for this. I might have been a _little_ ready for this if Holly had ever even hinted at her – illness. Lupus – _fucking **lupus**?_ She had no right to keep something that big from me – I'm the father of her child, for crying out loud. That entitles me to – to something. Some kind of warning that she might up and die, leaving me solely responsible for a daughter I never expected to even meet.

Pissed? Oh, I'm a lot more than just pissed. Holly fucking_ knew_ I hated being caught off guard by major shit… and this, ladies and gentleman is some major fucking shit! If she'd told me, I could have at least tried to prepare myself… right. How the Hell do you prepare yourself for the sudden onset of parenthood…

Parenthood? Me? I'm a fucking menace. I don't know how to be a parent. Just look at the fine examples I had. Greta – well, she did her best under the circumstances. I've never faulted my mother for never being there. But the old man – he had no fucking excuse – except that he couldn't keep his dick in his pants. If you can't refrain from cheating, you shouldn't fucking get married. It's just that simple, folks.

I light up another cigarette. This has to be the third or fourth one since Alison left me… I imagine Beth would be pissed at me for chain smoking – for just sitting here on my ass when I should be _doing_ something. Only I just don't know what _to_ do…

I suppose I should go talk to her…

But I don't know what to say to Emma – and I'm not real sure I want to hear what she as to say to me – not after that whiz-bang first impression I made… Damn. If I'd been just the least bit prepared… hmph. Talk about your fucking 'really didn't see it coming' moments. This one almost out does the first one. I take a long drag off my smoke. It's not helping.

Beth said that having Cicily to love – having Cicily there to love her – that that's what got her through the darkest part of _her_ life… somehow I don't think Emma will _ever_ real warm and fuzzy about me…

_Beth_… what was I thinking… I should never have told her I'd come back. I should have known that… that something would happen. It always does, right? Fuck… it's like there's a knife twisting around in my gut just thinking about her… that kiss… my Christ, that kiss… I can almost still taste her… still feel her incredible warmth… what I wouldn't give to have been able to continue… to be able to kiss her again… just kiss her. That kiss held such promise… but guys like me… guys like me don't deserve promises like that. There are no happy endings.

Not for me.

Oh, come on, we both know it's true. At best there would have been a couple of months of – pretending… just like that summer by the lake with Holly… then it would have been back to hard, cold reality.

Every other thought I was trying so hard not to have about Beth – those were just part of the little fantasy I'd created for myself, just something to get me through… women like her don't fall for guys like me – and guys like me – we just don't fall for anybody. We take what we can, when we can and then… then we move on.

In the end, I'll wind up in a shallow grave or at the bottom of some lake somewhere. Just like Belini and a hundred others like him… guy's whose lives I ended. No regret. No remorse. No apologizes.

"Christ, Holly – what were you thinking, sending Emma to me?" I say into the darkness… even if she didn't know the details of my life… she knew who I worked for. That's the whole reason she left me. And now she expects me to raise our daughter? I mean – let's be real here, what kind of fucking good example could _I_ possible set for a fifteen year old? What could _I _teach Emma about life – that it sucks and then you die? I'm pretty sure she's figured that one out already…

I stamp out my cigarette. I've been sitting here for a whole lot longer than five minutes… "Time to face the music, I guess," I say to Spencer as I stand up…

I manage to navigate the room I'm in and the hallway beyond – the house seems oddly quiet… no not quite completely. I hear music coming from upstairs (although it is at least recognizable _as _music) – and clattering in what I must presume is the kitchen, because it sounds like the sort of clattering I associate with kitchens.

Under my feet, I feel the plush carpet of my sister's living room – but – no voices… wonder where El Senor Hubby has vanished off to…

"Al?" I call out.

A moment later, I hear her footsteps on hardwood – that other hall – then the footsteps cease as she hits the carpet of the living room.

"Could you do your big brother a little favour?" I ask, entirely too sweetly.

"What?"

I just smile in response to her sour tone. "There's something in the pocket of my overcoat – be a dear and grab it for me, would you?"

"Why – what is it?"

"Just a little something to help the sight impaired maneuver around this charming home of yours. Where's the husband?"

"He needed some fresh air, so he took the girls for a walk," she tells me – I hear her moving towards the front door – and the coat closet.

"Guess my unexpected arrival put a wee bit of a kink in the ol' holiday plans, huh?"

"You could say that."

I just smirk. Yeah, I could probably navigate just fine without the cane – but this is the best way I can think of at the moment to rub my 'handicap' in her face. It's little more than petty revenge for her not giving me the time I need to put my life back together, before taking on the responsibility of a teenager. So – I stand and wait for Alison to come to me. She puts the cane in my hands and I snap it together.

"Um – and the stairs?" I ask as she starts to leave – even though I know perfectly well where they are. I'm also doing my best Ray Charles impersonation by not actually turning to 'face' the sound of her voice.

"This way –" Alison begins – her tone betrays her uncertainty. She really doesn't know how seriously she should take my 'handicap'…

I mean, I _am_ me, and she of all people knows just exactly what that means… Ok, so maybe it's slightly better than petty revenge… Alison is clearly very uncomfortable. Good. I drop Spencer's lead and put one arm on her elbow, "Now don't go walking me into any walls, Sis."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Uh-huh. Sure she wouldn't… but she gets me to the stairs without incident and I tell her that I should probably take it from here on my own.

"Her room's the last one on the left."

I just nod and urge Spence up the steps…

Even without Alison's directions, I would have found my darling little girl's room with my ears, just fine. The music isn't resonating through out the house as it was earlier – in fact, I suspect Emma had it turned up that loud before because she assumed _I_ was the dreaded in-laws… Looks like I was right about certain of my more nasty personality traits being hereditary… How peachy.

And… I still don't know what I'm going to say to her. Of all the things running through my head, none of them sounds right… I'm just standing there trying to figure something out when I realize that Em has had the same song on repeat. She must have picked that up from her mother… every time we fought, Holly would play Yaz's _Nobody's Diary_ over and over and over… of course that was back in the days of vinyl… I think she wore that record out that summer… God, I suddenly feel very, very old…

I stand listen for a while… Soft piano… a backdrop of – hmm, something electronic, probably – long, even tones, reminiscent of string instruments… it resonates with… things I don't want to think about... (it still brings to mind Barber's _Adagio_ – didn't know I was a connoisseur of classical music, did you? Well, let me tell you, Barber's _Adagio_ is simply… simply the saddest piece of music ever written for strings…)

_Out of sight – out of mind – out of time – to decide_

_Do we run? – should I hide? – for the rest – of my life_

_Can we fly? – do I stay? – we could lose – we could fail_

_In the moment – it takes – to make plans – or mistakes_

_30 minutes, a blink of an eye_

_30 minutes to alter our lives_

_30 minutes to make up my mind_

_30 minutes to finally decide_

_30 minutes to whisper your name_

_30 minutes to shoulder the blame_

_30 minutes of bliss, thirty lies_

_30 minutes to finally decide_

_Carousels – in the sky – that we shape – with our eyes_

_Under shade – silhouettes – casting shame – crying rain_

_Can we fly? – do I stay? – we could lose – we could fail_

_Either way – options change – chances fail – trains derail_

_30 minutes, a blink of an eye_

_30 minutes to alter our lives_

_30 minutes to make up my mind_

_30 minutes to finally decide_

_30 minutes to whisper your name_

_30 minutes to shoulder the blame_

_30 minutes of bliss, thirty lies_

_30 minutes to finally decide_

_To decide_

_To decide – to decide – to decide_

_To decide…_

Finally, I knock.

Nothing.

I knock again, just a little louder this time. The volume decreases. But – no response. I tap on the door.

"Who is it?" her tone isn't quite neutral – but – but I don't want to try interpreting it… because if I was hard pressed to identify what I think I'm hearing… I'm already feeling like shit.

"Can I come in?"

More silence.

Ok, it's not as if I deserve a warm reception… but she could throw me some kind of a bone here. "Emma?"

"What – you're actually waiting for an invitation?" He tone has become scathing (although there's still that underlying... hurt.) "Ally and Poncho just barge on in."

Poncho – cute. Not very original, but cute. "Yes, I'm waiting for an invitation."

More silence – no – not quite silence. She's moving around – I wait.

Finally I hear the door open, just a crack. I smell patchouli and sandalwood incense (easily identifiable because of those two months I lived with Holly) and the sweetness of freesia oil on human skin…

I have never thought about this day – I have never imagined what I'd say to my daughter if we ever met – it was _never_ supposed to happen... and for all that standing and listening and thinking – I'm still at a loss for words. Me – at a loss for words – mark it on your calendar…

"Yeah?" she asks. Her tone is carefully controlled. I imagine in the few minutes she was moving around she was touching up her make up – that's the sort of thing a woman would do… especially if she doesn't realize that the guy on the other side of the door can't see…

And I try to imagine what she's thinking – but I just don't know. "Could – would it be all right if I came in?" Because at the very least, I don't want to have this conversation in the hallway. Why now… why with my life in the state it's in… why couldn't Holly have live happily ever after like she was supposed to…? Yeah, I know – I'm sure it was never her plan to – to die and leave _me_ with our daughter… that's the last thing she would have wanted…

"Just don't let the cats out – Poncho will freak," Emma tells me, pulling the door open enough for me to get through.

Bearing in mind the abundance of wild life, I tell Spencer to sit and stay – then I follow her inside, securing the door behind me.

"What's with the dog and cane?"

"Take an educated guess," I suggest, although I'm making every effort to keep my tone gentle.

"No one mentioned that part."

"No one knew. It's – a recent development."

"Ah. Guess that must suck."

I almost smile. "Yeah – yeah it does."

From across the room I hear the rustling of feathers… _El_… I wonder what it really is (and I hope to God it's in a cage – but so far nothing is dive bombing my head…) I follow her across the room… Emma makes no attempt to offer assistance – and I don't ask for any. I sweep the cane in front of me slowly… no major obstacles in the way.

Bedsprings creek as she sits.

"Mind if I sit down?" I ask.

"Knock yourself out." Her tone is tepid.

Ok, this is going swimmingly – I think my first conversation with the Mariachi went better… of course there I had the upper hand. Here – here I think we're probably on equally unsure footing. And I just don't do well when I'm in uncertain territory… I maneuver around to the side of the bed – and sit what I hope is a courteous distance from her. It's as much for my comfort as for hers… I fold up the cane and set it next to me. "So – um – I take it you know who I am –?"

"I know your name. And I know it's the name on my birth certificate – in that spot where they usually list 'father.' So my best _educated guess_ is that you're the sperm donor."

Ouch – but no worse than I deserve… I'd do the same thing… "Anything else?" I ask, keeping my own tone carefully neutral as well.

"Your hair is longer than in any of the photos I've seen."

I wonder who showed her pictures, Alison or Holly… I suppose it's moot. "Last photo I saw of you, you were twelve, I think."

"That was three years ago."

"I – sort of – lost touch."

"I _know_ Mom sent you letters. I – had to write the last couple for her. I mailed them myself."

I hear a twinge of what I am very sure is deep-seated pain in Emma's voice, despite her best effort to control it. I can only imagine that Holly must have been pretty sick when she had to have Emma help her write those last few letters… I'm almost afraid to know what was in them… and what impact it had on Emma…

"I – I haven't checked that P.O. box in a while," I tell her honestly. No sense denying it.

"Three years?"

"It's complicated."

I hear her cold hard laugh. "Yeah. That's what Alison says every time Poncho wants to know where you are."

"Look – I'm sorry. I – I just didn't – get around to having my mail forwarded. I can't change that now." Yeah – it's starting to get to me – only – it's not that I'm angry at her – I'm angry at myself for not getting around to it. Every time I'd think about having my mail forwarded – I'd put if off. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month… it wasn't like the photos and letters wouldn't be there when I finally got around to them… I had all the time in the world. Only now… now it just doesn't matter, does it? It's not like I can _see_ the photos – read the letters… not like I'll ever see a fucking thing, ever again…

"So you really_ didn't_ know – about any of it, did you?" Emma asks me in a _very_ carefully guarded tone.

"No. I really didn't." I tell her – I wish I could – could see her eyes – her body language – I wish I had some clue what she was thinking… how much she really hates me…

"I guess it doesn't matter – even if you had come – she'd still be dead."

_Oh Christ – Holly, you didn't…_ "She – asked me to – ?" to come back?

"That was last year. When things got really bad – when – we knew she wasn't – she didn't have much longer. We – wrote you twice asking you to – be there. Mom never stopped believing you'd show up."

"I – I'm sorry." I don't know what else to say… I just know how – hollow – 'sorry' sounds. Sorry is what you say when you bump into someone in the subway – it's what you say when you step on someone's foot – or spill… coffee… why is _everything_ reminding me how unfit I am to be a – a father? She's right – all I ever was, was a sperm donor… I tried to make myself feel better by setting up some money for her… but… "Look – Em –"

"Save it, ok. _Mom_ never gave up on you. _I_ did. I know you don't want me – I'm nothing to you – you or your sister. And – frankly, I'd already figured out by your initial reaction that you weren't _really_ here for me – I just wanted to hear you say it." Her tone is cold – hard – and – sharp enough to cut right through to the bone. "Your being here will just make it easier for Alison and Poncho to get rid of me."

"Emma –"

"I over heard she and Poncho arguing about it. If it makes any difference to you – it was his idea not hers. He had to work at her to get her to give in."

Now I _know_ I should have shot him…

"Besides – even if you can't see me, I'm pretty sure Alison has filled you in on the – little details. I'm not exactly Little Orphan Annie over here, you know," Emma tells me. Her tone hasn't lost it's edge.

"Yeah. So – ah – you wanna tell me why you won't go to school?" I ask.

"You wanna tell me why you care?"

"Call it curiosity."

"School sucks."

"Any particular aspect – or is it just the entire educational process?"

"The school they're sending me to bites. They wouldn't let me into any of the classes I wanted – drama – band – choir – they're too uptight to let me in – like I said, I'm no Little Orphan Annie – Poncho calls me an embarrassment."

I just snort – he should get to know me…

"The art teacher at the school is a moron – so there's no point to going to _his _class – they stuck me in remedial English – and they don't even _offer_ Russian."

"Russian?"

There's a long pause. Then, "We – Mom and me – were talking about going – before – she just got too sick. We still talked about it – but we both knew it was never going to happen. I'm going to go someday, though."

"It's a beautiful country," I tell her.

"You've been to Russia?" she doesn't sound like she believes me – but some of the anger seems to have finally bled away.

"Six years ago – I wasn't there long – just – passing through on my way to somewhere else."

"Alison says you travel a lot."

I just shrug. What can I really say… about anything. After a very long moment, I find my voice again… "Emma – would you mind if – I've heard my sister's description of you – but –?" But I really just want to touch her. I never thought – never thought I'd ever be this close to my daughter – my Christ… I am really right her, right next to her… I so never planned for this…

"Guess paternity comes with _some_ rights," there's a bitterness in her tone that – hurts…

… and I'm sorry I asked… but – I guess it's too late to back down now. I shift so that I'm 'facing' her – and raise my hand slowly towards the sound her voice.

"Are you – completely blind – or – "

"Completely," I assure her. Yes, it is all black…

And I'm taken utterly by surprise when I feel the feather-lightness of Emma's hand on mine (I wonder if she's as uncertain about this as I am... I wonder just exactly what that bitterness stems from…) She guides my hand to her face, leaning over, into my touch… and I just let my hand rest on her cheek for a second. It is so strange – I have never been what you would call touchy-feely sort of person, but – but I guess when you loose your sight, everything else just becomes that much more important. "I'm not going to smudge that eyeliner am I?" I ask with a smile.

She actually laughs, "No one would notice anyway."

"I'm still not very good at this," I warn her – but… I let my hand wander gently over her face and… I can almost begin to piece together a picture… I remember what she looked like in that last photo I saw… a lot seems to have happened in three years… Two rings in her left eyebrow… three hoops in her left ear – two studs in the cartilage – something long and dangly in the right ear – one, two, three studs above it – a small hoop in the cartilage. I feel her hair. There is a lot of hair spray in it… I can begin to imagine what it looks like… so much for those long blond pig-tails… Emma's jaw line is similar to mine – firm chin – that piercing just below her lip…

"Lipstick," she warns as my fingers come to her lips.

"Right – what colour?"

"Black."

"Alison tells me you a lot of your wardrobe is black."

"Maybe it's hereditary."

I smile, just a little… I let fingers wander up to her cheeks – they're high, like Holly's – she has Holly's nose, too… while I can't say I'm thrilled with her sense of 'self expression' – she _is_ beautiful. I rest my hand on her cheek for another moment – but she doesn't seem to object. "You – you look a lot like your mother, don't you?"

"That's what people say. She always told me I had your eyes, though."

Oh Christ… I don't really mean to pull back, but… but yeah, she had my eyes… I just nod. At least this time I'm pretty sure she wasn't trying to hit a nerve…

"So what happened?" Emma asks… I feel her fingertips on my temple – oh please no – but she just touches the arm of my shades.

I think – I think I can breathe again… even so, I pull her hand away, very gently – I hold it for just a second and then release her… we don't know one another nearly well enough for – any kind of familiarity. "I'd – rather not – talk about it." _Not with you… Christ not with you._

"Guess it doesn't matter."

The finality in her tone is like a knife twisting around inside of me… "Emma – I know I didn't show up here for you – but I _would_ have come home if I'd known what was going on."

Her laugh is full of cold irony, "And here we were making such progress – having ourselves a real father-daughter moment – and you just _had _to go and screw it up by lying to me." I feel her settle back on her side of the bed – I think she's scooted a little further away. "You know – the most I'd ever hoped for was – _maybe_ – **_maybe_** some sort of vague friendship with you – but it's hardly the end of my world if you don't want to know me. I don't care if you don't like me – like the way I look. I don't care what you think of me. I don't even care that you don't care – just – don't fucking lie to me."

"Em –"

"I _know_ your sister has been trying to reach you through work since I got here. Don't try to tell me it actually took you three months to get around to checking in with your boss, too."

"I wasn't getting my messages." Because if I'd known… if I'd known, I would have come home. And that would have ruined their little set-up… so I didn't get my messages, because Collins needed me right where I was… fuck me. But good.

"Oh come off it. For three months? How stupid do you really think I am?"

"I know how it sounds – but – it's true. I can't prove it – " Christ – I don't even know if I can prove I was set up… I think I need a drink. A really big one. )And I am becoming increasingly aware of a dull throbbing that seems to start right about where I used to have eyes. Dr. Answan hazarded a guess that I would get these kinds of headaches from time to time – something about the body's general objection to having parts of it drilled out…) "Didn't your mother tell you anything about me?" _Come on, Holly – don't tell me you left all the details to me… you had to know I'd be no good at this…_

"Just – that you two had a fling – that it was over before she realized she was pregnant. She told me it was her idea for you not to be in my life – she didn't want me to blame you – or to be angry with you. She – she said you were a complicated man – and that – I'd – have to be more patient with you than she was. Not that it matters. We both know you don't want me, right?"

Is that really hope underlying the angry hurt in her voice – or is that me doing the hoping… wanting her to – to want me to want her… Christ. Somebody just shoot me… please. "Emma – I have _never _said I didn't want you."

"You didn't have to – I figured it out on my own. I knew Mom was covering for something – covering for you. I'm a big girl, now, though. I can handle the truth. I just want you to say the words – out loud – to my face. Then – I guess it'll all be over."

Oh my Christ. She sounds fucking just like me… "I'm not sure you'd understand the truth," I tell her. I can't _believe_ Holly didn't tell her anything…

"I'm not a little kid – I get it, ok. I get it that you don't want me, that you never wanted me – just – just tell me. Please – just _tell _me. I'll go away – I'll never bother you again!"

I think my head is going to explode, "_Fine,_" I growl at her a little more savagely than I really think I mean to (because I am slowly beginning to realize how much pain there is behind the anger in her tone…) "If you _really_ want the truth, I'll tell you the truth – in fact I'll _show_ it to you." Settle down, gang – my temper_ is_ flaring – but no way would I do _that_ to my own kid. No – I reach into my _other_ jacket pocket and pull out that other ID that I'm still toting around (because I am still very much in the employ of the CIA.) And I do it in such a way that she'd have to be as blind as I am not to see the heat I'm packing… yes, yes that is just a little bit of a startled gasp I hear coming from her. I toss my ID squarely into her lap and light a cigarette while she's looking at it. "This is who I am. This is why your mother left me – and – I don't know if it'll prove anything – but – when I say I wasn't getting my messages – well – sometimes things just get a little hairy in the field. I'm sorry about that, I really am – but there just isn't anything I can do to change what's already happened." Because if there were… I can think of any number of things I'd go back and change…

"I don't – you're – but – you're –"

"Blind as a bat," I assure her. "Before the – incident – that –" _ok, Sands, settle down,_ I tell myself, taking a long drag off my smoke – _settle down before you say something you're** really** going to regret..._ "Before I lost my sight, I ran covert ops in Mexico. Hell, I _was_ covert ops in Mexico."

"You're still carrying a gun."

She hands the ID back to me, carefully touching my arm with it – I take it from her (gently, because she seems pretty spooked) and return it to the inner pocket of my jacket. "Yes. I'm still carrying a gun. And I still know how to use it, too."

"But – you said – you were _completely_ blind."

"A good officer learns to use all five senses – if you happen to loose one – trust me, there's still plenty you can do with the other four," I toss some classroom rhetoric at her. "So I don't want you to think that living with a blind guy is going to be some kind of walk in the park." For either of us… "I won't tell you how to dress or wear your hair – but we're going to talk about those long dangly earrings and I'm going to tell you exactly why you're going to stop wearing them. We will find a school that offers Russian – and has an art teacher that isn't a moron and a drama teacher who isn't too uptight to let you into his class – and you will go to school. _Every_ day. Because I don't think my new boss really wants me hanging out in the office anyway – so if I have to, I'll sit with you in every single class. And really don't want that."

"What –?"

"You're right, Em – you're not little Orphan Annie. And I'm no Daddy Warbucks – but I am_ not_ going to sign you over to anyone. So – just start packing." And… I wait for the explosion. But I hear – absolutely nothing. Which is a whole lot worse… "I_ will_ cart you out of here with nothing but the cloths on your back," I warn her.

Still nothing, "Ok – you've got five minutes to start – I need to make a call anyway." Because I'd better warn Milo… he answers his cell in two rings… looks like Mother Hen was just waiting for trouble…

"Jeff?"

"No, I'm Jeff – you're Milo." Although I'd be willing to trade places for the next twenty four or so hours… "You remember that promise I made earlier about an evening you weren't going to forget…" I give him the low down in less than a hundred words.

"Holy Crap. What are you going to do?"

"I guess that kinda depends on how that beau of yours feels about having extra house guests. Emma comes with two cats and a bird."

"Under the circumstances – give me five minutes to find the keys to his truck and I'll be on my way. Should I dress for dinner?"

I grin – oh it is tempting, but... "No – no I'm afraid if we did that, Sugar Butt, I might just have to break that_ other_ promise I made to you – and I'll just bet you anything my sister has white carpeting." Blood stains are such a bitch to get out of anything white…

Milo laughs – my meaning is of course completely understood. "All right – I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Swell – hey – there's a bottle of Vicodin in my bag – could you bring it?"

"You ok?"

"Just a headache. I promise not to do anything drastic before you get here."

"And after I arrive?"

"Guess we'll play _that _by ear."

He laughs again – we say our good byes and…

"I still don't hear the sound of packing," I tell Emma.

"Do you really want me to live with you – or is this just some weird guilt thing?" her tone is – cool. Flat. But I'm beginning to understand it. She doesn't want pity, especially from me.

"I have never said that I didn't want you, Emma. I didn't expect you to – to be a part of my life – ever. I might have – if I'd know about your mother being sick. But – I can't change what's already happened. You're mine – and that's not guilt. That's just – just the way it is." _And if I'd ever had any doubt that you were mine, meeting you would have removed it – because my Christ, the apple didn't fall far from the tree on this one._ "I want you to live with me – I just want you to understand – I'm in the middle of something right now. I would have preferred not to drag you into it – but – that's moot. Our ride will be here in –" hmm… I know how Milo drives. "Twenty minutes / half an hour tops. Think you can be packed up by then?"

"So – what do I call you?"

Hmmm… good question. "Whatever you want – within reason." I add… yeah, I'm sure she can think of lots of things she might like to call me, especially right now…

"Mom always called you Shelly."

Christ – I hate that name, "If it makes you happy – come on – how can I help you get your stuff together?" Because I really may end up shooting someone if I have to sit through dinner with the family…

------------------------------------------------

If I wait for just a second more

I know I'll forget what I came here for

My head was so full of things to say

But as I open my lips, all my words slip away  
Ah-ha

And anyway

I can't believe you want to turn the page

And move your life into another stage

You can change the chapter you can change the book

But the story remains the same, if you take a look

Ah-ha

Ah-ha

For the time we've had, I don't want to be

A page in your diary, babe

For the good the bad, I don't want to see

A page in your diary, babe

For the happy the sad, I don't want to be

A page in your diary, babe

Just another page in your diary

Perhaps if I held you, I could win again

I could take your hand, we'd talk and maybe babe

That look in your eyes I always recognize

Would tell me everything is gonna be fine

You're gonna be mine

For a long time

For the time we've a had I don't want to be

A page in your diary, babe

For the good, the bad, I don't want to see

A page in your diary, babe

For the happy, the sad, I don't want to be

Another page

In your diary

For the time we've had, I don't want to be

A page in your diary, babe

For the good the bad I don't want to be

A page in your diary, babe

For the happy the sad, I don't want to be

Just another page

In your history

- Yaz -

PS – not to worry, Sands will eventually get his head out of his butt and figure out that women like Beth _DO_ fall for guys like him – and guys like him do indeed fall back… he's just being a boy.

_30 Minutes_ is by t.A.T.u.


	19. Not Even GoodBye

**Everybody**: Thank you! I really appreciate the time you all take to send me a few kind words… and I'm glad everyone enjoyed the last chapter… I hope you continue to enjoy – and yes, truly, Sands and Beth will be back together by the end… she's his angel – he's just doing the 'glass is half empty' routine right now… (it'll get worse before it gets better…)

**Chapter Eighteen:**

_Not Even Good-bye_

Spencer and I head downstairs so Emma can finish her packing – and change out of that 'dress' into something a little more fit for a snowy November afternoon. As soon as I hit the steps, I hear the voices – El Senor Hubby and my sister – and it sounds heated. _Remember your promise…_ nothing drastic… and I have the feeling Milo would insist that I use _his_ definition of drastic… he can be such a killjoy.

Sounds like they're in the kitchen – and as I creep down the steps, I become aware of other voices – much quieter ones – speaking Spanish in the living room. I pick out three voices – an older male, an older female and a male probably around my age – I stop to eavesdrop for a few seconds at the base of the steps (well out of view). Mama and Papa DeSantis and…Roscoe's brother…? That's my best guess, anyway. _And_ it seems as if Al wasn't exaggerating about just how much they like her. I think Holly might have had something to say regarding Karma about now… all I really know is that I don't feel one iota of sympathy for my sister and her in-law troubles, not after the way she treated my – my daughter.

Christ… what I wouldn't do to know what Emma's thinking… I mean _really_ thinking. This has got to be messing with her head (it sure is messing with mine.)

After a few moments, I head towards the kitchen; the terse words flying between my sister and the husband seem to be growing louder. I'm not honestly even paying much attention to the content of the argument, the tone in their voices is enough to tell me that it's getting pretty ugly.

"Well, kiddies, I have good news and I have bad news," I announce at the kitchen door.

Roscoe stops mid sentence – I'm sure they're both glaring at me.

I favour the pair of them with one of my charming little half smiles. "The bad news is that I promised someone I wouldn't do anything that involved you or your relatives and a bullet," I nod in Roscoe's direction. "Although if your mother calls my baby sister a – how did that go again? – oh, yes, yes, I remember now, a 'white trash American whore' one more time – I might be hard pressed to keep that promise – hmmm. You know – it suddenly occurs to me that you _might_ consider the fact that I'm not going to shoot you or yours the _good_ news." I light my last cigarette.

"I warned you once –" the husband begins.

"Oh – right – my bad," even with a headache coming into full swing, I'm still managing to have way too much fun with him… I know, I know, I promised Milo I wouldn't do anything drastic, but if I don't blow off some steam, I honestly might have to shoot someone before he gets here. I pull out my ID – once again, in such a way that Mr. Police Ossifer over there would have to be more sight impaired than I am not to see the gun under my jacket. "Sorry, Roscoe – CIA trumps local fuzz every time," I flash my badge along with my very best cat-that-ate-the canary smile. "Your darling wife will tell you that I'm for real."

"What the – ?" his tone is one of utter disbelief.

"He's not kidding, Tom," Alison's tone on the other hand is quite subdued. I'm not sure if she's just exhausted from our earlier repartee – or if perhaps I've struck a nerve by relaying some of Mom and Pop DeSantis' private tittle-tattle.

"I don't – " Roscoe is probably standing over there slack-jawed.

"He's _not_ kidding. His last posting was in Mexico."

So in other words, she knows I'm not shitting about what his mother was saying about her – and he knows she knows I'm not shitting… I love holidays, don't you?

I pocket my ID – and ash on the floor – I can practically _hear _Roscoe's blood pressure rising. I ignore him and 'face' my sister. "I'm going to need a couple of things before I go."

"Um – you said you had 'good' news?" Alison prompts me – she sounds – almost a little afraid? Well – yeah, I guess having me in a good mood is almost as bad as having me in a bad mood…

"Oh right – Emma's coming home with me. Which leads me to –"

"You can't be serious, Sheldon."

"Why not? You're the one who laid out my options. Now about –"

"I laid out your options so you'd realize I was right," Alison interrupts me again. "You –"

"You intimated that it might be for the best if I took her," I interrupt her – this is getting annoying.

"That was – before our – discussion. I – was wrong – going with you – would be a mistake."

I just smirk – what she means to say was that she thought Emma going with was a good idea before she remembered just what prick I really am. She probably thinks a state home would be far safer for the kid than any home I could possibly provide. Which may be true – but it doesn't alter the fact that I will not sign my daughter over to anyone. "Well, seeing as I _am_ her father – it really isn't your decision to make, now is it, Ally? Now – for the last time – I need you to do a couple of things for me before I go."

"What sort of things?" Roscoe again.

"Buddy – when I want something from you, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Listen here –"

"Tom, please," Alison interjects. "Why don't you just go – talk to your parents. Or check on the girls."

"The girls are fine," he tells her in a low, angry tone. But I listen as he removes himself from the room, pausing as he passes me.

I turn my head in his direction, giving him the illusion of being stared down – "Don't get fresh, Sweetcakes," I warn him in flawless Spanish, in a tone that leaves little room for doubt that I am dead serious: "Lata - y voluntad, sin la vacilación - le puse en un agujero tan profundamente que presionarían al Diablo mismo difícilmente encontrar su descomposición, apestando caparazón." Well – Sweetcakes doesn't quite translate – but I'm sure he gets the idea. (Oh, you'd like to know what I said too? Simply that if he gets any particularly stupid ideas about my person, I would put him in a hole so deep that even the Devil himself wouldn't be able to find his rotting, stinking corpse. Needless to say, I think I've made my point.)

After the husband makes his final (hasty) egress, I turn my head back towards Alison and resume in English. "Charming man, absolutely charming. Does he have a sister? Maybe we can double date sometime."

"What do you want from me, Sheldon?"

(Is that defeat I hear in my sister's voice? How interesting… but I'm really past caring – because I really don't know my sister half as well as I thought I did and while that thought is disturbing, I really have more important things to worry about, right this very moment.) "I need you to write down the number of Emma's school for me – don't worry, I'm sure_ she_ can read it even if I can't," I say before she has the chance to remind me that I can't see. "I'd also like to get the name and number of this lawyer who dropped her off – and everything else he left with you."

"You're really going to do this?"

"Someone has to."

"Shel – please try to understand – I'm not trying to be the bad guy – but – we've only been married for a few years – we've got two small children – they were both difficult pregnancies – and you heard yourself – his family hates me."

"I'd cry you a river – but I'm not real sure I can do that any more either," I tell her with quite a big more rancor than I'm actually feeling – because – because I have simply stopped caring quite so much... She actually thought I would just sign Emma over to some state run home… Me – the guy who took care of her, run out on my own kid… I may not like the situation, but… but what choice do I really have? "Oh – and some while back, you said you had some stuff for me – from Mom," I say to her, ever so sweetly. "I'll take that now, too if it's not too much trouble."

"Are – you sure – I mean – it's mostly old photos – a few knick knacks – most of it's stuff you probably don't even want any more."

"You can either go find it for me now, or I'll come back in the morning. Your choice."

"It'll take me – a few minutes," she gives in with some reluctance.

"Take your time – hey look on the bright side, at least I'm not staying for dinner."

"Tell me – do you really still work for the CIA?"

"At least until Monday – who knows, maybe they'll let me keep my job, what do you think?"

"I think – I think I would prefer it if I never saw you again."

"That's kinda what I had in mind."

I listen to her footsteps as she leaves the room by another door – it could just be more convenient to wherever she's got the items I requested – but my real guess is she doesn't want to be anywhere near me right now.

Smiling to myself, I wander back upstairs to Emma's room – although I manage to resist the urge to poke my head into the living room and say hola to la familia. Heh.

"Knock, knock," I announce at her door – I mean, I know I can't see – but I would still feel pretty awkward walking into my kid's room if she wasn't dressed yet…

"One of the cats is still on the loose," she warns me.

I step in, once again bidding Spencer to stay outside. "How's the packing coming, otherwise?" I ask; I am quite anxious to get the Hell out of this house.

"Almost done – I – don't really have much."

Yeah. We'll talk about that later… for now, "How big is that bird cage of yours?" Although Milo did say his beau drove a truck…

"Three feet by three feet by two feet wide – it collapses, though – I've already got it broken down."

"And Mr. Bird travels in what?"

"He has a smaller cage for carrying, don't worry."

"Just checking."

I'm sure she's shaking her head at me – I wonder if Holly told her how much of a Nature lover I just am not. "So – um – " what now?

"You don't have to do this, you know," she tells me. Her tone is… hmmm… yeah. Right.

"Yes I do," I move slowly and carefully across her room towards the bed – I stop briefly as I hear Emma drag something out from in front of me. "Thanks." I park my ass on her bed – there's a big duffle bag sitting in the spot she occupied earlier. I listen as she moves around the room, pulling things from drawers and tossing them into the bag… I wonder if her wardrobe is really as bad as Alison suggested… but – I did say I wouldn't tell her how to dress. She's her own person… and I realize she's standing in front of me. I turn my head in her direction.

"How – how long ago did you – lose your sight?" her tone is uncertain.

"November Second," I keep my voice gently neutral. She doesn't need to know… how bad it really is.

"Shit – that's less than a month ago –"

"Look – I realize I'm not the world's best example – but –"

"But I should at least pretend to be a lady?" She asks – I think there's just a little bit of a smile in her voice. "That's what – what Mom used to say to me."

I hear her voice catch when she mentions Holly... "Em – I – I wish I had been there, I really do – " I reach out for her – and I'm a little surprised when she puts her hand into mine. She's soft – warm. Rings on most of her fingers – and her thumb – and – leather fingerless gloves… I wonder what the rest of the outfit is…

Emma sits down next to me, close enough that her legs are touching mine – jeans, I think… and she hasn't let go of my hand, either. I place my other hand over hers, feeling more than a little out of my depth here. I really am no good at this. All I really have to fall back on is – is how good it felt when Beth was there for me… in the dark. My angel…

"It really wouldn't have – changed anything if you'd come," Emma says softly. "She would still have died – you know the funny thing? Most people with lupus live pretty normal, long, happy lives. There are just a few – extreme cases. Mom never could do anything by halves," she laughs, just a little.

"No – no she really couldn't," I agree. And then a rather dark little thought crosses my brain… "Have you been – checked out –?" because one of the few things I know is that lupus is very possibly hereditary… and why does that thought really frighten me, right down to the soles of my boots…

"I'm fine. Mom freaked when I got mono a couple years ago – but – it was just mono."

"You're _sure_?"

"She made them run the test on me twice."

I just nod – I'm pretty sure I can have faith that Holly would have wanted to make sure Em was ok.

I feel the bed move – something (a cat, I hope) has just jumped onto it. The thing rubs its face on my leg. It's white – it's big and fluffy and white, I just know it… it is leaving a trail of white fur all over my pants… my entire wardrobe is going to be covered in long white cat hairs. I'll be the other one is black – and just as big and fluffy – and I'll bet it likes to rub all over white shirts. I'll be they're going to divvy up my closet accordingly… cats are sneaky little buggers. Holly had a cat – I can't remember what she called it – but it made a habit of pissing in my shoes. I don't like cats.

Emma lifts the feline away from me, "You, Mister, are a little sneak," she says to it.

"So – um – what kind of cat is it?" I check my other pocket – but no, I only brought one pack of smokes. Damn.

"Feel."

Oh great – I have to pet it too? I mean – Spencer is one thing – he serves a purpose in my life. But – cats? What use are cats? They pee in your shoes, get fur all over everything – they plot against you in your sleep, evil, conniving little plots… they're_ sneaky_. Hmmm…. Anyway…. I guess I'm going to be living with it, so I might as well try to make nice with the kitty. "Does it have a name?" I ask, reaching a hand in Emma's direction.

"Of _course_ he has a name," she tells me, "This is Iggy – as in Pop – his brother is Bela – you know Bela Lugosi."

Ok – I can dig that. My hand comes to rest on… "Um – Emma – I think there's something wrong with it."

Her laughter is – utterly maniacal. "He'ssupposed to feel that way."

I run my hand over smooth, soft skin – no maybe not quite skin – suede? Warm suede. "Are you sure someone didn't slip some Nair into its shampoo?" I feel as if I've been set up… by my own kid. I mean – she knew I couldn't see the thing… but… my Christ, this is the strangest thing I've ever felt… (oh, and it's purring…so I guess it likes me… how ducky. I'm still going to hide my shoes.)

And my darling offspring is still giggling at me, "They're hairless. Well – mostly hairless – Iggy has a little peach fuzz on his head and ears – Bela has some on his tail and feet as well as head and ears. Bela's dark grey, with Siamese like markings on his face, legs and tail – Iggy's white. They're both declawed."

See, I knew it… but I suppose that since they're not big and fluffy, I'm not going to have to worry about my wardrobe… "Interesting," I really don't know what else to say. I've never heard of a fucking hairless cat before – I mean – what's the point? I know – living in Mexico for three fucking years I did become acquainted with the whole hairless dog thing – but I'm not saying I think that makes any sense either. Frida Kahlo can keep them – and I've gotta tell you, one thing I'm not going to miss is that lady's weird ass paintings. I've read her biography – I get it – but man, talk about twisted… and that, ladies and gentlemen, is coming from _me._

"You're not crazy about pets, are you?" Emma asks.

"Never had any. Growing up we moved around too much – and – well – in my line of work, I never really know where I'm going to be from one month to the next."

"What do you do – really?"

I listen as she settles Iggy into the carrier with his brother. Neither feline seems entirely happy about the arrangement – I can sympathize. I've never cared much for small cells either… but at least their incarceration won't last long…

And I have to think about her question for a moment before being able to answer. I don't think I'm going to tell Emma what I told – whatever his name was – the President's right hand man – about my area of expertise (although I think it's a pretty good analogy if I do say so myself – political enemas.) "It's a little – involved – but – I guess you could say I – keep things balanced out. I watch all the players – keep tabs on all the little factions running around – and make sure that nobody gets too big for their own good."

"So what happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said there was an 'incident' – that led to – the dog and cane. What happened?"

"Well – that's kind of a long story. As of Monday I may not be working for the CIA any more, we'll have to see – but not to worry, I've already got a new job lined up," I can't help the smirk that crosses my face… I just think it's too damned funny that I'm working for the Department of Justice. I mean – _me_ – working with the white-hats. I fish out the DOJ ID for her.

"I'm beginning to see what everyone means about you being complicated. Can I – ask something – I mean – I know it's none of my business but – I was just – wondering – ?"

"They say there's no harm in asking," I try to sound nonchalant. I really don't like her tone – I just can't imagine what she could want to ask me that's got her so – pensive.

"I – don't care – I'm just – curious. I mean – it's just one of those things I'd like to know – since – I guess I'm coming to live with you and everything – and – I just – I don't even know if you care that I really don't care –"

"Ok – when someone starts out with that much of a preface to a question, I get a little jumpy, there kiddo. How about just cutting to the chase?"

"Sorry. I just – that guy you called – you called him – Sugar butt?"

I can't quite help the chuckle – yeah, I suppose that would lend itself to all sorts of strange assumptions. "Milo and I trained together – at Langley – and – he's probably the closest thing I have to a real friend. As for your question – or at least what I'm pretty sure it is you're trying to ask – he is, I'm not. It's never had any bearing on our working relationship."

"Langley?"

"Langley, Virginia – CIA headquarters."

"So – he's – he does what you do?"

I just smile some more, "It's ok to say the word 'spy' – guys in ski masks won't come crashing in the window or anything."

"Is it anything like the movies?"

"No." No – because in the movies, the actors get up at the end of the scene – they wash off the make up and fake blood and everyone goes home that much richer… in real life… in real life you have to live with what you've done… what's been done to you.

"Sorry," she says – I guess she realizes she hit a nerve.

I give her hand a gentle squeeze, "Don't sweat it."

"How come – how come you said you never – expected me to be – any part of your life?"

Damn. Talk about your hard questions. "I – I'm not really a nice guy, Em." I guess there's no point in sugar coating it. She's a big girl.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean – I mean – I'm just not a nice guy. I'm not – a good person. I never have been." Fuck – I don't want to tell her how many people I've killed – just how much blood is on those hands she's holding onto… I have no regrets – but I don't want to throw that kind of shit in my daughter's face, either.

"Mom said that – when – when she told you about me – you – never tried to say I wasn't yours. You never – said – any of the things she expected you to. You didn't even ask for a blood test to prove it. She said you were angry at her – but – that you never said I wasn't yours."

"Your mother never lied to me about anything so – so I guess I just knew that she wouldn't lie about something as – important as you. I was only angry that it took her four years to get around to telling me you existed."

"How come?"

"My old man ran out on us – when I was a kid – and – I never wanted to be him."

"But – you really didn't want anything to do with us, either."

_Ouch._ "Not for the reasons you're probably thinking, Emma."

"Did you love her?"

"I think I did. But – it was a long – _long_ time ago. A lot has changed since then." A Hell of a lot… "You wanna double check – make sure you've got everything you want from here?" I say, by way of changing the subject, "Because – once we're gone, we're not coming back." Damn I need a cigarette…

By the time Emma has double-checked the room, Milo arrives… and it takes us only takes four trips to get all of Emma's worldly possessions and the two boxes Alison left for me by the front door loaded into the back of the SUV.

I wonder if Alison is watching, as Milo pulls out of her driveway; I haven't said one word to her since our conversation in her kitchen. There just doesn't seem to be anything _to_ say... not even good-bye.

And I wonder what Emma is thinking… because she seems to have gone all quiet on me…

------------------------------------------------------------

I'm standing on the bridge  
I'm waiting in the dark  
I thought that you'd be here by now  
There's nothing but the rain  
No footsteps on the ground  
I'm listening but there's no sound

Isn't anyone tryin' to find me?  
Won't somebody come take me home?  
It's a damn cold night  
Trying to figure out this life  
Won't you take me by the hand  
Take me somewhere new  
I don't know who you are  
But I... I'm with you  
I'm with you...mmm

I'm looking for a place  
I'm searching for a face  
Is anybody here I know?  
'Cause nothing's going right  
And everything's a mess  
And no one likes to be alone

Isn't anyone tryin' to find me?  
Won't somebody come take me home?  
It's a damn cold night  
Trying to figure out this life  
Won't you take me by the hand  
Take me somewhere new  
I don't know who you are  
But I... I'm with you  
I'm with you...yeah yeah oh

Why is everything so confusing  
Maybe I'm just out of my mind  
Yeah yeah yeah...yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah

It's a damn cold night  
Trying to figure out this life  
Won't you take me by the hand  
Take me somewhere new  
I don't know who you are  
But I... I'm with you  
I'm with you...

Take me by the hand  
Take me somewhere new  
I don't know who you are  
But I... I'm with you  
I'm with you

Take me by the hand  
Take me somewhere new  
I don't know who you are  
But I... I'm with you  
I'm with you  
I'm with you...

- Avril Lavigne -


	20. A World of Clay and Taut Convulsion

**Quick, Capt'n-Jack's-Bonnie-Lass - _thank you!_**

The actual name of the song at the end of this chapter is Lullaby... but the line that I use for the title just... hits home. (Well, it's not the only one that hits home, but as far as just capturing the whole feeling...)

**Chapter Nineteen:**

_A World of Clay and Taut Convulsion _

Milo helps me settle into the 'master suite' (don't I feel special) – he rearranges the closet to give me some room, and clears out a couple of his beau's drawers…

"Look – Milo – I – hadn't planned on any of this," I begin, awkwardly. See – I'm not used to being a 'charity case' – and right now, that's just how I feel. I don't like it.

"I know," his tone is – quiet.

"I – "

"Jeff – Patrick has a ten year old son – he would understand."

"Your guy has a kid?"

I hear his small snort of almost-laughter – probably at my surprise. Guess it had just never occurred to me that his boy might have pitched for my team, so to speak.

"He's been divorced for almost seven years – it's amicable - now. For the first couple of years he says she was just reeling."

Milo parks his ass next to mine on the big double bed; I don't quite turn my head in his direction. Believe me, it's not his situation that's got my brain working overtime – but I could use the distraction. "So you're ok with his having been married to a woman?"

"Patrick just wanted what most guys do – a home. A family. He – thought he liked her enough to make it work. He had a hard time accepting it when it didn't. The divorce was as hard on him as it was on her."

"I guess – I guess I can relate to that." The Vicodin has kicked in – but I'm still feeling as if I've been dragged through the ringer.

"Holly?"

I just nod and light up a cigarette. By my reckoning, it's not quite four p.m… (there's a clock in the hall that chimes every fifteen minutes – which you might think I'd appreciate. But I don't. It's fricking annoying.) Anyway – four o'clock. That means I became aware of the – the immediacy – of fatherhood not quite four hours ago. I guess that's why it still feels so fucking surreal.… I mean, I know the basics, food, cloths – fucking boundaries. My Christ – blue and purple hair? What was Holly thinking….? (I know, I know, I told her I wouldn't tell her how to do her hair – and I won't – but I know how to make subtle suggestions….why are you laughing? I can be subtle. Sort of.)

"There was a time when I – when I think I wanted to marry Holly," I tell Milo. "And maybe that would have been a mistake – all we ever seemed to do was scream at each other – but I wanted – it all. I wanted her – I even wanted her to be happy. Only she didn't want any part of the – the future I had in mind. And I really can't say as I blame her – I mean – just look at what my life turned out to be." I'm not_ just_ blind – where there used to be eyes, there are only gaping holes (yes, that still eats at me. I don't know if it'll ever stop eating at me.) I have a future – but – it's still uncertain because I really don't know how I'm going to get from here to there… and… and somewhere there's a foolish little angel who thinks she wants me in her life? I would be doing her the world's biggest favour if I broke that promise I made… she doesn't need me. She needs a happy ending. She _deserves_ a happy ending.

"I don't think that sixteen years ago, you could have predicted any of this, Jeff."

No, probably not… "Why did you get into this racket?" I ask him.

There's a long pause. "You know – some days I ask myself that – and I don't really have a good answer. I think – I just – didn't feel like I fit in anywhere else – and I didn't know what I wanted to do – just that I didn't want to work some nine to five thing like my parents both did. I just didn't think I could – fit into that world, you know? It was more than just – sexual orientation. It was – everything. It's hard to explain."

"I get it."

"You too?"

"Yeah – me too. Nothing ever quite – felt right. Then – I got a gun and a phone – and – it was like the world was my oyster… for about five minutes." But – no regrets…

"Look – why don't I go – take a nice long walk – give you two some time to – start getting to know each other. I'll come back with a pizza or something."

Oh – yeah – food. I'm not real hungry – but that's probably situational. However, I'm sure Emma will want something to eat soon, because I really have no idea when she ate last. "Have – you met your guy's son?" I ask as Milo's standing to leave.

"Noah's a great kid – but – it was awkward at first. Patrick had talked to him about – his life – but I'm the first boyfriend Noah's ever met."

"So – I guess it really is serious, there, Sugar Butt."

"It really is – and – there is nothing – better – than knowing I have someone to come home to. It makes all the difference in the world, Jeff. Believe me. It's worth – everything."

Of course, I'm very sure he's not just talking about he and his… he's not talking about me suddenly becoming a father, either – although damn if that doesn't put a whole new spin on – on everything. "Yeah. If you say so," I tell him. My angel – she really is an amazing woman… I could come to her… Damn – there goes that knife in my gut again. I want her, but more than wanting her, I want her to be happy. And – I'd rather be a broken promise than one more in a long line of bad men in her life... I really do hurt in places I never thought existed.

"I'll have my cell on, if you need anything, just call," Milo tells me.

"All right, Mother Hen," I tease him, making a shooing motion with my hands (I have to force the accompanying smile, though). I swear, Milo fusses more than my mother ever did… which could answer a lot of questions about my sister and me... I did the right things by her, didn't I? I protected her from the Chet Wheatons of the world – I washed and bandaged her scraped knees – I gave her the last banana – I tucked her into bed and I made sure she always had a lunch for school… but somewhere along the line – I turned into the enemy. And that bothers me – because I never hurt her. I may have used her – but I never _hurt_ her… and that – that should count for something… shouldn't it?

I listen to Milo walk down the hall and poke his head into the guest room to see how Em's doing – he seems so much more comfortable talking to her than I am. I'll bet he's great with his beau's kid… I can picture them – a real family. _What every guy wants…_ I hear Milo asking Emma what she feels like for dinner… Emma replies that anything is fine, she's not picky… I remember how easy he seemed around Cicily, too… why does that still bug me? Just because I know I'll never be that at ease… what difference does it make anyway… what difference does anything make…

_Right, fuckmook_, I tell myself, stamping the cigarette out into an ashtray… _time to get moving._

I tuck the Browning under my pillow; it's twin and some extra clips go into the nightstand drawer. One of the Sigs finds a home in the master bathroom – since I won't be sharing it with Emma, I don't have to worry about any mishaps – although I make a mental note to acquaint her with each of my firearms. That's going to mean a trip to the range – which is probably a good thing – because I still have a lot of pent up irritation to work off. Collins. Suarez. My own fucking sister. Roscoe – ok, he's minor in the grand scheme of things… but I could unload a couple of clips into a target pretending it's his head.

And – almost as an after thought – place that copy of _Peter Pan_ that Cicily gave me on the nightstand. I'll never finish it – but – but I like having it there anyway, where I can reach out and just – lay my hand on it in the middle of the night. It's a reminder of the sorts of things guys like me never get to have – but – it's – it's good to know those things exist.

I hear soft foot falls in the hallway. They're coming this way. "Em?"

"Yeah – just me," she calls from the door.

"You need something?"

"I'm fine. I just – I got my stuff unpacked. You need anything?"

"I'm – I'm ok." And… that awkward silence again… And Milo thought that his taking a walk would give us a chance to get acquainted? "You wanna come in?" I ask, uncertainly.

She doesn't answer – but I hear the approach of her steps. She sits down on the end of the bed… not real close. I wonder… maybe she's thinking about what I told her about not being a very nice guy. It's true, but – but I don't know. I don't want her to be afraid of me – I just want her to understand who I am… right, anyone with the sense God gave a goose would be afraid of me if they had even half a clue who I really am. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a no-win situation.

"I guess – this must be – weird for you," she says at last. "Not even knowing Mom was – gone – you know, until today."

"Yeah – a little. You seem to be – holding up all right." Christ – I sound like a moron.

"I – had almost my whole life to – get used to the idea she wasn't going to be around forever."

"How long – had she known?"

"She didn't tell me until – I was nine or ten – but – she's known since I was four – since she – "

"Yeah." I get it. It's been niggling at the back of my brain since I first heard the word lupus… Holly got in touch with me when Emma was four to see how I'd take to the idea of fatherhood… she may have even wanted to invite me back into her life – not as a partner, but – maybe a friend. And all I did was throw money at her…

"It didn't get really bad until – a couple years ago," Emma tells me. "Before that – we – did everything together. She told me she wanted me to have as many happy memories as she could give me."

I resist the urge to light up another cigarette – I really have been smoking too much lately. Too much fucking stress. I – guess I should be glad Holly wanted Em's childhood to be happy… isn't that why I stayed away – so my kid could grow up normal… right. Like that plan worked. I really don't realize how visible my stewing is, until I hear Emma's voice again. Her tone is – I don't know what her fucking tone is… I can't see her – I can't read her body language – I don't know what to do. And I hate that. I am not accustomed to this much – helplessness.

"I – guess – I'll leave you alone," she says – it's almost hesitant like she's waiting for something – but for what?

"Emma – I just – I don't know what to say to you. I don't know – what you _want _from me."

Well, apparently _that_ was the wrong fucking thing to say… she's up and out of the room before I can say anything else… shit, fuck, damn and hell… _Holly, you **had** to have knownthis would happen… _I just don't know how to be a father – _you should have sent her to someone else. Someone – someone who knows what the Hell to do – someone who could really take care of her… _because – for all my good intentions, just look what a bang up job I did with my sister…

How am I supposed to know what to say to a fifteen year old who has had to live with the fact that her mother was dying almost her entire life? Being the sperm donor doesn't magically put the right God damned words into my mouth! I don't know how to deal with strong emotions – I've spent almost my entire life avoiding them.

Hell, I don't even know what it was I did or said to send Emma running out of the room…

I need a drink. And I know there's tequila in this house – and this, ladies and gentlemen, is a tequila moment. I stop briefly at Em's door on my way downstairs. Music. Fuck. Sam Barber and his God damned _Adagio_... I'd rather hear that fucking Yaz song right now…

…by the time Milo returns, I've found the tequila and finished off half the bottle… and bless his boy's heart, there was even a big ol' lime in the fridge… (although let me tell you, finding it in the dark was one heck of an interesting adventure…)

"Do I even want to know?" Milo asks; he finds me, by the by, sitting on the sofa with the (half empty) tequila bottle in one hand, a glass in the other and wedges of lime lain out neatly on the coffee table. Beth's CD is playing in the stereo – and I've got the hat on my head. The room is probably dark, because it's November so it gets dark early – and why would a blind man need to bother with lights?

(I'm not wallowing in self pity – I've God damned drown in it… I am at the bottom of the Self-Pity Sea – and let me tell, the view from here is marvelous…yeah, I'm fucking drunk, too.)

"Prolly not," I reply to his question without turning my face in Milo's direction – can't see him anyway, what's the point in pretending? _Two fucking gaping holes where there used to be eyes… fucking circus side-show freak is what I've become… _I down what's left in my glass and refill it, carefully – no alcohol abuse on my watch, no sir-y-bob.

"Pizza's on the table," Milo tells me as he sets the box down.

I sniff at the air, "Ham – onion?"

"And mushroom."

"I hate mushrooms."

"You can pick them off."

"I can't fucking see – I have no eyes, remember."

"Fine. I'll pick them off for you. Finish your drink – I'll be right back."

I snort – and almost spill my glass – means I'd better down it quick… it's only in an absent sort of way that I'm wondering what's crawled up Milo's butt… all I really know is that he's going upstairs...

Some while later he returns in no better a mood, muttering something about apples not falling far from trees (I could have told him _that_) and I'm pretty sure he takes her up some pizza. When he comes back down (again), he brings a couple of plates from the kitchen, picks the mushrooms off a few slices of pizza and hands me a plate… and did you know – I can't feel my face any more? The tip of my nose is just… gone. Not there. "You get a glass, I'll share my booze. Well – your boy's booze." My tongue is so thick I'm not real sure I'm making sense… but by his response, I guess I must be.

"I think – I think I need one." He tells me. Yup, still pissy about something.

Milo gets a glass – I pour. Brave man, my Sugar Butt, letting the blind man pour…

"You know – it's not easy on her, either."

Her – who? "Emma? Yeah. I know."

"Jeff –"

"Look, it's not like – like I asked for this – not like I ever wanted it. Em was never going to know me. _That_ was our deal. Holly's the one who broke it, not me."

"I don't think she much of a choice." His tone is cold.

I finish my shot. I'm starting to be able to feel the tips of my fingers again. "I know. That doesn't mean – doesn't mean I know what to do. I'm no good at this shit and Holly – Holly didn't fucking tell her a God damned thing about me – about my life." And it occurs to me as almost an epiphany that I am_ really_ pissed at Holly over that. Not that it does any good – but – but she had to know I wouldn't be able to handle this… she should have at least tried to prepare Emma. I forget about the glass and just take a big swig of tequila right from the bottle.

"Maybe she wanted you to do it – maybe she wanted Emma to hear about you – from you."

"What am I supposed to tell her that won't scare the shit out of her?"

"Tell her about _you_ – listen to what she has to say about herself –"

I take another swig from the bottle. "And just where do I start? Fucks-it-stan-okov? That would be just a real warm fuzzy moment, wouldn't it? I could tell her all about having my toes broken one by one by one – tell her about going for – what was it – seven days that one stretch – without food? If you could even call that crap they shoved at us once in a while 'food'. Maybe we could talk about Ecuador – at least that one won't give her nightmares – oh, or Bogotá – or maybe we'll just start with more recent events and I'll tell her how I got my eyes fucking screwed out because I was chasing after a cheap piece of ass!" I'm only barley keeping my voice to something that might almost pass for a conversational tone… and _only_ because I really don't want Emma to overhear.

"You know, you can be a real dick sometimes, Jeff."

"My point exactly." I go to re-fill my glass but Milo pulls the tequila bottle out of my hand.

There is a long, cold silence.

Fine. I prefer silence to this conversation anyway.

Eventually the pizza is gone. I feel – like shit. It's not the booze. Well, it is the booze… but it's more than the booze… Milo makes me drink a big glass of and swallow a couple of aspirin. I make a half hearted attempt at an apology – not because I feel half hearted about it, but – it's just not something I'm terribly good at.

"I knew there was going to be an explosion sooner or later," he tells me in a tone that tells me he was probably never really pissed at me. "All I was really trying say is – is that your daughter needs you. Just try to remember that."

"It would be easier if I knew the first thing about being a father."

"I don't think she's expecting some kind of miracle, Jeff. She just – wants to know you're not going away. Everything she had – everything she's ever known – was just ripped out from under her – and it only happened three months ago. You are literally all she has left."

"Then she _is_ screwed."

I'm sure he's shaking his head at me. "Why don't you just – just try to be her friend."

I turn my head in Milo's direction – of course the 'look' is considerably more effective when one has eyes… fuck me. Barillo didn't just take my sight… he took my God damned eyes… (Christ – there are moments when I really wish I hadn't survived…) I manage to find my voice again, "I'm not so good at that, either, Sugar Butt." _You of all people should know that…_

"You might surprise yourself."

I doubt that very much… and yet… I remember Beth and her gut feeling… she said we needed each other. Right. I don't need a fifteen year old… and she sure as Hell doesn't need me. But. We're stuck with each other. Maybe she pissed off some gypsies too.

Milo pours me into bed, leaving a bottle of water on the nightstand; he promises to call tomorrow – at which point I entreat him not to make it too early. That clock in the hall chimes three times…

……….this is no time to screw the pooch…..this is the big dance number…..I've got a swell bunch of guys, but no guns…...hello?... _hello?_…… fuck me…… fuck me but good…..………_freak right out_………you really didn't see it coming ………didn't see it coming …… didn't _see_ it coming, did you? ………the big dance number……. I'm his daughter ………his daughter………screw the pooch….….. you have only _seen_ too much……._**seen** too much_………..**_seen too much_**….. _didn't see it coming, did you?_………….didn't **_see_** it coming…….I'm his daughter …… …… **_seen_** too much……………_oh, Christ no_ …….. we want to make sure that doesn't happen again ….…._no, please **no**……not my eyes …._…_no_….….**_my EYES! _**……._Christ,_ _my eyes_…..my eyesare dripping down my face……..

I wake clutching the blankets and drenched in sweat, with the echoes of my own screams ringing in my ears. Fuck me – I can't stop shaking… can't quite breathe… just a dream…. _Just a fucking dream_…. "Just a dream," I say aloud in a ragged voice, because right now – I just need something to connect me to reality… _eyes dripping down… didn't see it coming…. Never see anything ever again…_

"Shelly?" a bare whisper of a voice cuts through the darkness and pain.

Gun – fucking gun – gun under pillow – footsteps in the dark – can't see… _you have only seen too much – we want to make sure that doesn't happen again…. my fucking eyes are dripping down my face….. Christ…_… I hear a startled gasp – feminine – probably she's just noticed the gun I've got aimed in her direction… the direction of the scent of freesia on human skin… Holly?… _no, fuckmook, Holly is dead_… "Who – who's there?"

Silence.

I release the safety and cock the hammer back, because – because I really can't be sure of anything…anything except the fact that my eyes are dripping down my face…. it is a profound effort to keep my arms from shaking – the rest of me certainly is. The room is spinning… drugs? I just – I just don't know…

"It's me," she – sounds petrified. "It's Emma."

Oh Christ. Emma.

Tequila. Not drugs. Tequila.

I try to take a breath. Try to just focus… just a nightmare.

Emma.

Very carefully, I slide the safety back into place and set the gun down in my lap. "It's – it's ok," I tell her. I'm not real sure she's going to believe me (I'm not sure _I_ believe me). With very shaky hands, I reach over to the night stand and find both the bottle of water and my cigarettes… my hand rests on a book… _Peter Pan… _Cicily. Beth. My angels…

The room seems to be spinning… I think that's just the last dregs of the tequila making its rounds through my system. It was really just a dream… just a fucking nightmare.

"I heard – "

"It was just a nightmare," I cut her off. I – I don't want to know what she heard. I manage to get a cigarette lit. Christ – I could have blown her head right off. If that isn't a fucking sobering thought… "I'm – I'm sorry – I – I didn't mean – to wake you." Shit. This is never going to work.

"Are you ok?" She asks – her tone is – impossible to figure out. I imagine she's standing there, mid-stride, probably still afraid to move. Afraid to come any closer. _Afraid of me_…

"Yeah. Just – do me a favour – don't – don't come into the room like that. Not when I first wake up."

"I'm sorry. I – I won't do it again."

"It's not your fault. I can't always sort out what's real from – from the dreams. It just takes me a couple of minutes to wake up, that's all. Once I'm awake, I'm ok."

"I just – I wanted to – I'm sorry. I – I know you – I'll just – leave you alone." She beats a very hasty retreat from my presence.

Christ. Christ on a crutch… I finish my cigarette – and the water. The room has stopped spinning.

A loaded gun. I had a loaded gun pointed at my kid's head.

I am a fucking menace.

This – this is never going to work.

I slide the Browning back under my pillow. Because Milo poured me into bed, I'm still wearing my boxers… I think I'll put on a pair of sweats before wandering the house. I slip into the nicotine-scented comfort of my old terry robe as well. It's almost as an after thought that I slip off the blindfold and don the glasses… (Christ, I wonder what Em thought of that blind fold… I wonder if she's in her room packing…)

And – it's not like I know what I'm going to say – but I have to say something. I mean – I pointed a loaded gun at my kid's head – and I was prepared to pull the trigger. I almost hope she_ is_ packing.

Spencer follows, shadowing just behind me, as I make my way down the hallway, one hand on the wall as a guide.

There's music coming from the other side of her door. "Em?" And I hear – oh please do not tell me that was a stifled sob. "Emma? You awake in there?" I do my damnedest to keep my tone soft.

"Yeah – hang on," she says. The music ceases – and – the door opens, very slowly. "I – didn't mean to keep you – awake. I'm sorry." She still sounds – frightened – uncertain – hurt… and yeah, she's been crying all right.

Have I mentioned that I really don't know what to do when a woman cries? – and – when it's my kid – and I know I had something (_everything_) to do with it… then I really don't know what to do. Because while Milo might not think much of having a gun shoved in his face – I don't think it's ever happened to Emma before (at least it damned well better not have… But I doubt Roscoe would go to that much of an extreme….) "It wasn't the music – you're fine," I tell her in a tone that I'm not real sure is convincing. "Can – can we talk?"

"You wanna come in?"

"Why don't we go downstairs – see what kind of tea these guys have."

"Let me get my robe," she says.

I wait – listen – it doesn't take her long.

"You know – you don't have to keep the cats cooped up in your room," I say when she comes back into the hall, carefully closing the door behind her.

"I know you don't like pets."

"I – don't – but – you don't have to keep them cooped up like that." Of course she might be afraid I'll start taking pot shots at them… Christ. I slow down – the stairs should be right – here.

"Do – you – want to take my shoulder?"

"Would you mind?" Because it really just goes back to that need to feel something – solid.

"No – I don't mind."

I really wish I could – could see her. Her tone is just too damned hard to figure out. "I really didn't mean to scare you, Em," I place my right hand on her left shoulder as gently as I can – at least she doesn't flinch. "I just – I'm not real used to – having people around."

She doesn't say anything – what's there to say really? But she takes the stairs slowly – she's almost as good at this as Beth…

"I think Milo said there was tea in the pantry," I tell her as we reach the kitchen.

"Yeah – looks like we have Earl Gray, Lemon, Chamomile or – Green Tea."

"Whichever."

"There's hot chocolate –" she suggests.

I can't help but smile… hot chocolate was one of those silly little luxuries that we almost never had when I was growing up – and it is my absolute favourite.

She must see my expression – I'm sure I hear just a little bit of a laugh out of her. I listen while Emma makes it… I want to say… I don't know what to say… but saying as much garnered me some pretty negative results earlier… "Look – Em – I –"

"I know you never expected to have to have me dumped in your lap," she cuts me off. "I – it's ok. I don't expect – anything." We make our way to the living room. "I'll – stay out of your way. I'm – not real social, anyway," I can hear the smile she's trying to keep in her voice. And I know false bravado when I hear it…

I wonder if that's what Roscoe told her to do, just stay out of his way.

I let Emma sit down first – and sit next to her on the sofa, with a full cushion between us. It seems as if Milo cleaned up the pizza box, tequila and lime. (I'm rather grateful – I think the smell of tequila might make me ill right now.) "There have been a lot of things lately that weren't a part of my life-plan," I say. "Of them – at least – you're something good."

"Is that just by comparison?"

"No." But damn – talk about an ouch question… "There was – a time – when I wasn't real sure I was going to – to walk away from what had happened to me – back on the Day of the Dead – November Second. A lot of that day pretty hazy – but – one of the things I do remember is – regretting you – not – _having _you – but not _knowing_ you. Having never seen you, for real. I would never have broken my promise to your mother – but I would have loved to have seen you dance – even if you never knew I was in the audience. I wish I'd made the time for that."

"You know I used to dance?"

"You mother always let me know what you were doing. But when did you quit?"

"When – Mom got – too sick – last year."

Which of course I would know if I'd been reading my mail… "Do you want to get back into it?"

"It – doesn't matter."

"Look – you find the right class – and we'll get you signed up."

There is a very long pause before I get a very quiet _thanks _out of her – and I wonder if I've said something wrong again… And we're back to that awkward silence… remember that she needs me, Milo said… right. She needs me like she needs a hole in the head… except that I really am all she has left. I know it. She knows it. Christ. We're both screwed.

"I – I don't want you to just stay out of my way, Em. I just – I don't know what I'm doing," I admit to her. "I need some help here, figuring it out."

She seems to be considering… I listen to her breathing across from me. I think I've just about given up on her responding when she finally finds her voice:

"I – I wasn't really completely honest with you before, Shelly. I – I did give up on you ever showing up – but – I kept daydreaming too – about what you were _really_ like – and what would happen when you finally did show up. I kept – making up stories about what was keeping you – I know it was really stupid, but I kept trying to tell myself that you would come – if I just waited long enough – you'd show up. Only – when you did – it wasn't really because of me anyway. I think that's when I gave up for real."

And of course I suddenly understand her Little Orphan Annie references a whole lot better. "I guess I don't really live up to any of those daydreams, huh?" Because Daddy Warbucks I am not. Dirty Harry maybe – but what little girl dreams of having a guy like _that_ for a father…? (I can hear it now: Yes, my idea father would swear like a sailor, drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney, shoot first and ask questions later… he would have no problem violating a corpse and would have a body trail behind him bigger than – well, Dirty Harry's… oh yes, and he wouldn't regret any of it…)

"The only part of it that ever mattered was that – that you wanted me," she tells me, then, in a very quiet little voice. I think – I think I hear some tears behind those words.

"Emma – I didn't want to be a part of your life because of the kind of life _I_ lead. That never meant I didn't want you – it didn't mean I never thought about you. I know it doesn't seem that way because I let the last three years slip away from me – but – but I will never forget the first photo of you I saw. You were – _so perfect_. I just could not believe that anything so – beautiful – could have been the result of anything that _I_ did."

She laughs just a little, "Yeah – and just look at me now – even if you can't see me – you know."

"You're beautiful. I don't know why your mother let you do the hair and holes – but – you _are_ beautiful."

"She always wanted me to feel free to be myself. Even – when I started that last year of dance – we started working in toe shoes – and she so didn't want me to do it – but she wouldn't tell me 'no', either, because she knew how much I wanted it."

"You have no idea how close I came to asking her to talk you out of toe shoes."

"Why?"

"All I could think of was how painful it was when I got my toes broken."

"You – make that sound – almost like it wasn't – an accident."

Damn. I have to remember that this is my kid – and she is one bright little cookie. "Yeah."

"So – it wasn't an accident?"

"No. It wasn't an accident."

There is a long pause – a long pause I'm very sure I don't like…

"Earlier – when you were having that – that nightmare – you – were – you screamed – something – something about your eyes –?"

"Emma – don't go there. Trust me – you do not want to know." I can imagine what I must have been screaming… what she must be thinking… wondering… imagining.

"I – _think _I already do. You – you're not just blind, are you?"

"No."

"So what happened?" …yeah, she's afraid of the answer… but… but I don't think it's morbid curiosity…. I don't know what it is.

"Emma – "

"Whatever it is – whatever happened – I mean – I'm really going to be living with you, right? I'm going to find out eventually."

Fuck. But… she's right. One way or another, eventually she's going to figure out why my nights are filled with agonized screams – why I wake up unable to sort out reality from the terror of my dreams – why I pulled a gun on her just because she cared enough to see if I was all right… I really need a cigarette – but – I'm afraid to leave the room. I think – I think maybe I need this as much as she does… I need her to – to know. "I – I pissed somebody off. His name was Armando Barillo." Just the sound of his name makes my insides go cold.

"Was?"

"I'm not quite sure who killed him – whether it was – one of my little recruits or the other – but I do know that he's dead – he and the man who – did the – actual work – on me." It is really fucking difficult to choose just the right words because I honestly do not want to frighten her.

"Who was he – I mean – why –?"

"Why was I spying on him? Barillo was a major cocaine king pin. He ran an operation here in the states for years, but no one could touch him. Six years ago, he settled back into Mexico – Mexican citizens can't be extradited, so – it wouldn't have mattered if we'd shared the information I had on him with the DEA or FBI. They couldn't touch him."

"And – because you – were spying on him – he –"

"There are a lot of not-nice people in this world, Emma," I cut her off – mostly because I really don't want her – thinking about the details of my 'injury' more than I'm sure she already is.

"So – what happened – I mean –"

"You – grasp the – the general scenario. I'm assuming he let me walk away because it was worse than killing me."

She says nothing for a long moment – probably digesting exactly what kind of person it would take to do something like this… "You – really could have died, couldn't you?"

"I really almost did." Beth – my angel… if she hadn't been there – if Hermano hadn't been there to take me to her… I would have died in the street like a stray dog… "I don't want you to think that I'm some kind of hero, Em – I'm not. Believe me, I'm not. I've done a lot of – of not-nice things myself. But nothing like this." I have never left anyone to live with – with this kind of mutilation. "I – never wanted you to know just how ugly the world really is."

"I already knew the world was ugly – my mother died – three months ago. Before she died – she – just degenerated in front of me – and there – there was nothing I could do – nothing anyone could do."

I hear the pain in her voice – and – anger – and I just don't know what to say… "I'm sorry –"

"I'm not mad at _you_. I'm – I'm mad at _her_. I just want to scream at her sometimes – and I know that's horrible – but she just left me all alone! Sometimes – sometimes I just hate her so much for leaving me – I love her – but – she left me with no one!"

I just – before I really know _what_ I'm doing – I pull Emma towards me. And – I _don't _know what I'm doing – I just know how good it felt when someone held me, shaking and sobbing in the dark…

Em hesitates at first – then – then it all comes out… and she's just kind of curled into my lap. Huddled – I think she's huddled into herself and I just happen to be there… but I hold her anyway. I hold her and I don't try to tell her that it's going to be ok – because she's smart enough to know that it's not going to be ok. But I hold her and I let her cry.

I wait until the worst of the torrent has passed before pushing some of the hair from her face. "I am _never_ going to be the kind of father anyone in their right mind would want – but – you're just stuck with me – so – you'd better just get used to it. You dig?"

And at least that gets a little bit of a laugh out of her, "Yeah – but – we're really going to have to get you caught up with the times because no one says 'you dig' any more, Shelly."

------------------------------------------------

The lunacy will leave the day  
Luminous in flight  
As the moon spits out  
In jagged beams another night  
Wrap around this brilliant veil  
Tranquil and unbroken  
As you spiral down  
A world of clay and taut convulsion  
The dream swan spins  
And cartwheel turns  
Down deep within your violet side  
The sun begins to rise  
Skating down its morning swords to thaw your frozen eyes  
The dream swan spins  
And so conceal the heart that aches and yearns  
Hush awhile  
Sleepless child  
I'll be watching over you

- Siouxsie and the Banshees -


	21. The Joys of Parenthood

**Capt-Jacks-Bonnie-Lass & Midnightmuse: **Thank you, both, SOOO MUCH for your wonderfully kind words! Midnightmuse, I completely understand the "pre-caffeine" state of mind – and, as I told my husband, it is truly the highest compliment I've** ever** been paid to have my chapters come before someone's coffee! (Professional accolades might be nice some day – although the stalling on my so-called professional career is another matter… however, truly no compliment could be higher than yours. Thank you.)

That last chapter was – difficult and wonderful all at the same time for me too. This one was mostly just a lot of fun. ;)

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**Chapter Twenty:**

_The Joys of Parenthood… _

At this point, I would _love_ to be able to tell you that it was smooth sailing from there on out… however, over the course of the next couple of days, Emma and I had several lively discussions about what is (and _is **not**_) an acceptable volume for certain music. It seems that horrible screeching thing – something my darling little girl tells me is called "Diamonda Galas" – is a thing she actually enjoys. And here I thought that something so vile could surly only be reserved for annoying relatives, but no, no my little muffin _likes_ it… Lucky me. I finally have to warn her that if I have to warn her one more time, I _will_ to shoot the stereo – I'm not sure if she believes me or not… but at any rate, I manage to secure a bit of peace. It is, I assure you, temporary.

I discover, much to my chagrin, that Emma can't cook to save her life – come to think of it, Holly couldn't cook either… and try as I might… well, it's the blind leading the blind… the teacher isn't patient and the pupil isn't willing. What fun. It is only compounded by the fact that my dearest, darling little muffin just cannot grasp why it is I keep insisting that Pop Tarts are not a meal, I don't care _what_ the box says about essential vitamins and minerals. Pop tarts – it doesn't even _sound_ like food.

On Saturday, Emma and I head over to a local firing range – and – let's just call it an unmitigated disaster and leave it there, because the best I can say about the experience is that she doesn't shoot anyone – and neither do I.

Our trip to the grocery store goes about as swimmingly – see my previous comments regarding what is – and is not – real food. I'm the bachelor – she should be on my case about what goes in the fridge, not the other way around. I have to assure her that a bag frozen, microwaveable pizza rolls is just not an acceptable dinner, even if she promises to have a salad with it… especially when her idea of a salad turns out to be a wedge of ice burg lettuce with some dressing.

Which is when I start to really remember the – er – _less_ sordid – details of that summer I spent with her mother (because I've tried to hang on to the pleasant memories as much as possible and just forget all the rest.) I know I've mentioned that Holly was a vegetarian – something I'm very glad Emma is not – well, Holly's idea of vegetarian cuisine was a packet of oriental flavour ramen noodles with some tofu hacked into it. Or a wedge of ice burg lettuce and some dressing… I think that by the time Emma and I leave the grocery store, I am ready to go back to the shooting range, although I at least part of my ire is focused on the smart-assed check out clerk who didn't card me for the wine, because he "never cards old guys." I honestly believe that may be Emma's only moment of true panic as she nearly breaks both our necks getting me out of the store.

So by the time Sunday rolls around and Em asks if she can take herself to a movie I more than cheerfully hand over a little dough and tell her to go have fun… and then I spend the next four and a half hours worrying myself into a new ulcer because I shouldn't have let her go alone. What if guys in ski masks storm the theatre – what if Suarez somehow figures out where I am and that I have a daughter and where she is – what if the Mexican government tries to nab her in order to force me to come back… ok, not likely. They're morons. De Jesus' people, however, are not. Hell – what if some garden variety psycho nabs her off the street? Of course, the later it gets, the more intense my fears become – I even start having visions of a certain Mariachi tracking her down… to do what I don't know. Maybe serenade her to death? (I mean, I know I'm not on El's Christmas card list or anything, but I honestly don't think he's the sort of guy to get to a person through their child… even if that person happens to be me.) And I suppose greeting Emma with a surly "Where _the Hell_ have you been?" isn't the best way to welcome her in the door…

"I stopped by the mall – and got something _for you!_" She snaps back at me.

I only just barely catch the bag before it smacks me in the head… fortunately, it doesn't feel like anything hard… she's probably regretting not getting me a book… not that I can even begin to fathom why she's gotten me anything at all, not after the weekend we've been having… Emma huffs up the stairs just as my cell starts to ring.

"Yeah, what."

"And a cheerful hello to you too," Milo responds to my brusque greeting in entirely too chipper a tone. If he were here, I might be hard pressed not to at least threaten to shoot him. However, he is not here…

"Sorry. It's been another one of those days," I park my ass back on the sofa.

"This makes three in a row."

"I _can_ count."

I hear him struggling to stifle his laughter – which doesn't do much to improve my mood.

"How's Mexico?" I inquire – mostly because I don't really want to talk about _my_ day. (Yes, a part of my brain realizes I was over-reacting… by… there are just too many people out there who wouldn't hesitate to use Emma against me.)

"I believe that Suarez has finally gotten comfortable," Milo tells me.

"Oh?" Good news? Christ, I hope so.

"She had dinner with de Jesus last night – and breakfast with him this morning. I got it on film."

Oh hot damn, this is more like it… and of course I'm missing all the fun… not that I'd be much use on a steak out anyway… "Cool beans," I force myself to focus on the good part of the news – not on the fact that… that everything I've ever known really is over… "What about Collins?"

"He's laying low, going about his business – they tossed your apartment in Mexico City – carted all your stuff out in boxes."

Swell. Not that there was anything there I can't replace (number one rule, never take anything irreplaceable with you out on the job.) And, _theoretically,_ I should be able to get it back, seeing as I'm still alive and kicking… I fish out my pack of cigarettes – empty. Of course, all that worrying I was doing earlier… and I'm just too lazy to get up and find another one. "And rumours of my death?"

"The clean-out suggests they've written you off – the boxes are marked to be sent back to the States – but I've got a guy inside who tells me Collins has been a little edgy seeing as there's no body to confirm the theory that you're pushing up daisies somewhere."

That image almost makes me smile (and what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when Collins hears of tomorrow's meeting…) but… "_What_ guy inside?" Because I've been burned a few times too many lately…

"Someone I trust – and I know what you're going to say, Jeff. Ian's been on my team for a little over two years – and as far as the Company knows, he's just a computer tech who was transferred into Mexico a couple of weeks ago."

"You can make that happen?"

"With a little help."

"And you trust this guy? I mean really trust him with your balls kind of trust."

"Yes."

All right. I'll have to live with it – because really this is _his_ operation – his operation to save _my_ sorry ass. Life as I know it is over – because bravado aside, a blind man is not an effective field op. I really don't know what I'm going to do when this is over – Hell, maybe Eddas will decide that pain in the ass though I am (and damn proud of it, thank you, thank you very much – insert bad Elvis impression here, kiddies), she can use me in her office. Being some kind of investigator for the DOJ has got to be better than retirement (the irony alone will keep amused on those long cold nights when I'm wondering why I agreed to it.)

I know, I _said_ I was saving for retirement and I have quite a tidy little nest egg, too… but retirement just sounds so…_ dull_. I mean, really, can _you_ see me on the golf course? Or God forbid, fishing? (Hey, you guys remember that opening scene to _Crocodile Dundee 2_… heh! Fishing with dynamite… ok, I could dig _that_ – I'm just not sure what the DNR would have to say…probably nothing good. Yeah, like I'd care.)

"All right." I say to Milo after a substantial pause. Well at least with this new information on Collins and Suarez, I now know _exactly _how I'm going to play tomorrow's debrief... and oh to be a fly on the wall when word reaches Collins… that is truly enough to cheer me right out of the near-melancholy brought on by thoughts of a long dull retirement… (although I have to admit, with Em around, _dull_ might be a wee bit of a subjective word…)

"So how's it going – really?" Milo wants to know.

What a good question… "Well, really – if she weren't my kid, I would have shot her – oh probably just about seventy one hours ago." That was just about the time I was settling into the pure bliss of the boys' Jacuzzi tub in the master bath… three feet deep, six feet long and a good three feet wide, with a sloped back and twelve jets… it was me, Mozart and a really big glass of exquisite shiraz…

Then the screeching started… Diamanda Galas. My Christ. And other people dig her too, not just my demented little muffin – I just cannot get over that.

Milo laughs at me (I have mentioned that if he was here, I might shoot him too, just on principal at this point – nothing fatal, honest – small caliber round in the thigh maybe. His boy won't be home until after the New Year – he'd be good to go long before then…)

"I'll check in with you late tomorrow," Milo tells me.

We both know I'll be at Langley all damned day… and Emma will be here… and I have to find some way to spend my whole day **not** worrying about her… Right.

"And hey – try to take it easy on the boys 'back home'," he adds.

"Like Hell."

I'm quite sure Milo is shaking his head at me, on the other end. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Jeff."

"Ten-four, that, good buddy," (yup, trucker 'accent'); I hang up. And get a fresh pack of smokes. I take a few minutes to collect myself – and examine the gift Emma brought home for me – then I head up to her room.

The door is shut – and since she's let the cats roam free, I know it's closed against me (ask me if I care). There's music coming from inside – it is, however, at a tolerable decibel level (and identifiable as music – hmm… hard – thumpy – lots of bass. Pissed-off music? Yeah, I used to gauge Holly's mood this way too.) "Emma?" I raise my voice just loud enough to be heard over the thumping.

"Go away."

"Sorry, kiddo – I'm going to exorcise some of those parental rights and stay right here until you let me in."

And – I wait. About thirty seconds later, she yanks the door open. "Fine. Come in – _stop_ –"

I hear her shove something out of my way… so at least she's not pissed off enough to want me to trip and break my neck (I've stopped using the cane in the house.)

"What do you want?" Emma inquires in a charming, soft, sweet little tone… and if you believe _that_, I've got a bridge I could sell you…

"I was worried about you," I tell her.

"I was only gone – what, four hours?"

"Four and a _half_ hours."

"Thirty extra minutes. Sue me." (At moments like this, she _really_ reminds me of her mother… Holly had absolutely_ no_ sense of time – if I said to meet me at six, she'd show up at seven and wonder why I was pissed – what's an hour? Christ on a crutch.)

"Your movie couldn't have lasted more than two hours," I snap right back. Although I am not raising my voice much above a civil tone – I am very sure that the extent of my displeasure is clearly audible.

"Hello – holiday weekend in DC and the public transit system? That tacks on over an hour right there."

Well, it's nice to know by her tone that she's lost her fear of me, even if I kinda wish I could get just a little bit of it back…

"You _could_ have taken a cab."

"Oh please – that would have been worse. Besides, I'm a big girl, I can navigate the bus system. I did it in Philly – and in Boston – even in New York."

"You're fifteen –"

"Right –_ fifteen_. **_Not_**_ five_. I can figure out the buses without getting lost."

"It wasn't you getting lost that I was worried about."

"Look – I'm home – I'm fine. Quit worrying about me, ok? I can handle myself."

"You should have called if you were stopping off somewhere on your way back – then I wouldn't have worried." _Liar._

"I don't _have_ your number – and I don't have the number to the house – and even if I did, pay phones are going the way of the _dinosaurs_."

I'm swinging on the end of my rope… and this is clearly a no-win situation. Time for a new tactic: "Fine. I apologize. I'm going to be out most of the day tomorrow anyway – go get yourself a cell phone. And then _pretend it's a part of your body_ – " I hear her begin to protest but cut her off, "Your phone is **_never_ **_to leave your person_, savvy? And don't think I won't make random check-ins, just to make sure you've really got it on you," I warn her.

"Shelly – don't you think you're taking this whole parent thing just a _little _too seriously? Four days ago you barely knew I existed – "

My jaw clenches.

"Sorry."

She sounds sincere enough – but that still stung. Deep. But – I keep my mouth shut because nothing I say now will be contusive to anything.

I listen as Emma takes a breath – she continues in a much gentler tone, "The point is – four days ago I was just someone you thought about once in a while. I'm not a little kid, I know how to take care of myself. There were times – when Mom was – just too sick – so - I just – I don't need to be smothered to death. It's _not_ personal. I'm just asking you to off a little – don't get all freaky and parenty on me, ok?"

"No. I will _not_ lay off a little. This isn't some 'parent thing,' Emma – this is a 'your old man is a fucking spy' thing – there are a lot of people in this ol' world who would like very much to see me dead. Not one of them would hesitate to hurt _you_ to get to _me_." Well, with the possible exception of a certain Mariachi… but he's in Mexico…

"We're not in some God-forsaken Third World Country. This is Washington D.C.! What could happen here?"

I find that my jaw _and_ my fists clench up at _that_ ludicrous statement; it is seriously taking every ounce of self control I have not to _completely_ lose my temper. _Washington Fucking D.C. – what could happen here? Who does she think she's talking to? Some fuckmook who doesn't know their ass from a hole in the ground…?_ "Emma. I have snuck in and out of the homes of Heads of State – both with and without – collateral damage," probably a better turn of phrase than 'blood bath' or 'body trail', although either would be far more accurate. "I've pretty much never been caught – and I'm not really the best in the field. So – with that in mind, just how hard do you really think it would be for some guy to get to you in a building as unsecured as a movie theatre? How about a whole slew of guys in ski masks with automatic weapons? Or even a – a guy with a guitar case full of guns."

"A guitar case full of guns?" She's probably questioning my sanity on that one…

"Never mind, my point is –"

"_My _point is that no one like that could possibly have known who I am or what I was going to see. _You're_ the one with the t-shirt that has CIA written in big bold letters. I just look like any other bored teenager escaping from 'holiday frivolities' by going to a movie."

I doubt very much that she looks like any other bored teenager… but I have to concede the point that it's highly unlikely anyone has connected her to me… ok, I have to concede it to myself. I do _not _have to concede it to her. "Emma – just – humour me, ok? Get a phone. Keep it on you. Keep in touch. Then, I won't worry." _Sands, you lie like a rug…_

"Fine. I'll get a cell phone. Maybe you'd like me to get an _electronic tether_ while I'm at it?"

"Don't tempt me." Yes, it is so good that my child doesn't fear me… really… I'm glad… honest…

She _hmphs_ at me. Then, "So where are you going tomorrow?"

"I have an appointment at Langley – I have to debrief – which will probably take all frigging day. Don't expect me to be in any kind of good mood when I get back, either."

"And just how am I supposed to know the difference?"

I – almost – say something – but – no, she's smiling. Apparently my wit seems to have been passed along to her as well… isn't that just lovely, too?

"So did you even check out what I got you?" She asks – the edge has completely vanished from her tone.

"It's a t-shirt – but what does it say?" Because I could feel the letters – I just couldn't figure them out.

By Emma's giggling, I'm not real sure I want to know…

"'Never mind the Dog – Beware the Owner.'"

Ok – you know I'm smiling, "So – um – what's the occasion?"

"No occasion."

"Em – you didn't have to – go out of your way," I park my butt on the bed next to her.

"Yeah – but I wanted to. And – I kinda wanted to check out the mall anyway. But when I saw it – it just screamed your name. Oh – it's red with black lettering. Not that I think you ever cared how much your cloths matched, did you?"

"Very funny. How about we go out for dinner tonight?" I suggest – because mostly I've been cooking – or we've ordered in – all weekend.

"You sure you want to be seen in public with me?"

I just chuckle – usually that's my line. "Yes – I want to be seen in public with you. Although – if you ever get the urge to ditch the purple and blue," I tug at one of her longer locks, gently, "I know a real swell barber."

Emma laughs and gets up – sounds like she's rummaging around her closet. "I've been thinking about shaving it," she tells me over her shoulder.

"Shaving it? As in – bald?" Christ… is that any better?

"Not quite bald – but pretty short. You said I could get back into dance, right?"

"Yeah – sure – absolutely, if that's what you want. Just don't expect me to be real thrilled about broken toes, there Muffin."

She laughs at me – why is everyone laughing at me today?

"I've already had all but two break on me – it really wasn't that bad. Anyway – I don't think the purple and blue will land me the lead in _anything_ – but if I shave it close, that'll be fine – and I won't have to worry about bunning it up or anything."

"What about the holes – Emma – what are you doing?" Because I'm hearing fabric move against skin…

"Changing my shirt – "

"Christ – Emma!" I'm up – tripping my way out the door… whatever she moved out of my way earlier, I apparently find it on my way out.

"What the –?" It sounds like she's got at least her head sticking out the door. "You ok?"

"I'm fine, but what's the matter with you?"

"What –?"

"You don't just change your shirt in front of a man! Especially when that man is – _me!_"

"Oh for crying out loud – Shelly – you can't even see me." (She sounds truly perplexed by my reaction.)

"I don't care! Are you dressed?"

"Almost."

"Jesus Fucking Christ – get back in there and don't come out until you've got some cloths on!" I turn my back on her and find my cigarettes. Christ on a crutch. "I'm your father! You don't just strip down naked in front of your father! Or any other man!"

"For all it's worth, I'm wearing a bra," Emma yells out the door… clearly she finds my reaction to her nudity _quite_ amusing.

"As long as it's an ugly, frumpy, sport bra that covers half your body."

By her giggle, I doubt it… no, I just do not need to think about it… didn't her mother instill any sense of modesty… oh wait, Holly… the tree-hugger. She never thought it was at all weird to walk around the house in nothing at all… which wasn't a bad thing because _she_ was my girlfriend. Out of my _kid_ I expect a little more of a sense of propriety.

"I wouldn't have thought you were the modest type," Emma tells me, exiting her room.

"You're my kid!"

"Exactly."

"Emma –"

"Besides – it really isn't as if you can see me – what's the big deal?"

"It's the principle of the thing."

She just sighs – I'm quite sure she's shaking her head at me, too.

"Did your mother ever have boyfriends?" I ask her then.

"What?" she takes my hand and puts it on her elbow as we head down the stairs.

"Just – answer the question."

"A couple. Why?"

"And did you run around naked in front of them?" Because if she says yes…

"Well – Jim was a nudist – "

"Oh Christ. Forget I asked."

"Next thing you'll want to know if I'm a virgin." And I can tell by her tone she said that on purpose, because she knew what my reaction was likely to be… I'm surprised she didn't wait until I had a mouth full of wine or food – just to watch it spray all over the table. However, I'm sure my expression is sufficient…

"_Yes_, Shelly. Virgin territory. Fell better?"

Christ on a crutch – yes – but – I didn't really want to _know_ either – I would have just assumed she was, because assuming is better for the health of any young man she ever presents to me… "Would you just call for a cab while I get Spencer's harness on – or are you _trying _to put me into an early grave?"

At the very least, we manage to get through dinner without incident…

………………………………………..

I wake from the icy grip of a nightmare with the sure knowledge that I'm not alone in the room… Spencer… no. He's here – but – there's someone else. My hand curls around the gun under my pillow… and I wait and listen…

"Shelly?"

Emma. At the door. Good girl.

"Yeah." I pull myself into a sitting position, raking my fingers carefully through my hair (so as not to disturb the mask). I feel like I've been run over by a Mack truck. "What time is it?"

"Five."

I reach for my cigarettes – and listen as Emma creeps closer. "You – should go back to bed –" I tell her; just because I don't think I'm going to be getting any more sleep tonight doesn't mean she shouldn't try to get some. I know it's more than the nightmares that have me feeling wound up tighter than a toy top. Today is _the _day… Eddas will be here at nine to pick me up and haul me out to Langley… although I have honestly (finally) convinced myself that it really isn't going to be in chains.

I feel her sit on the bed – and reach over to give Spencer a good morning pet – he's become as fond of her as I think she is of him. But – so far Emma hasn't said much to me… hmmm….

"You ok?" I ask – because I really cannot imagine the impact my nightly ravings must be having on her (and I haven't had the guts to ask). I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to get the Day of the Dead out of my head.

"I'm ok," she tells me in a soft voice.

I set the lighter back on the nightstand – and let my hand rest just a moment on that book… just feeling it under my hand elicits pleasant memories… painful comfort.

"Can I ask?"

"Hmm?"

"_Peter and Wendy_ doesn't quiet seem your style."

I smile – we've had a couple of conversation about my reading habits (she saw those Braille books I bought when Milo took me shopping. Emma doesn't consider my reading 'light' either.) "It was a gift." I answer her as simply as I can.

"That's some gift."

"What do you mean?" I ask – it's not _what_ she says, but the way she said it that has me perplexed.

"I could be wrong but – may I?"

I hand the book across to her; I can't help but remember Cicily's parting words to me, which is, I think, the only reason I don't mind letting Em have the book. Funny the things we become attached to.

"Um – there's a light on the nightstand – would you mind?"

"Right." Duh… unlike me,_ she_ has eyes… ergo, she must have light…

I listen as she flips the cover open – and – I swear, I hear the breath she lets out, a soft _whew_. It's several more moments before she speaks. "You've never seen this, have you, Shelly?"

"No – it was – given to me after –" I finish with a shrug.

"This is a first U.K. edition – Hodder and Stoughton, 1911."

Ok, this is one of those if-I-had-eye-lids-I-would-blink moments, here, kiddies… "I knew it wasn't a movie re-hash," I say. And of course I knew it was an older book – old books just have a certain feel – a certain smell about them. I just figured Beth had picked it up at a used bookstore – she seems the used bookstore type… what I told her is true, in a lot of ways she reminds me of Emma's mother.

"I thought it was old the first time I saw it – but – " I think Em finishes with a shrug, too – because she obviously respected my privacy enough not to go looking without permission, and that makes me smile. "Remember I mentioned Jim the nudist," she says, then, "He owns a used and rare book store in New York, that's how he and Mom met – and – I'd have to talk to him to find out for sure – but this – is probably worth a lot of money. It's in nearly perfect condition."

"There are things in this world more – valuable – than money," I tell her softly. Things like a little girl's hug… or angel's wings holding me in the dark… yeah, I miss them. But – but I _can't_ go back. I'd rather have Beth hate for breaking a promise than to hurt her by keeping it. (I _am_ doing the right thing, right?)

"There's – an inscription in the front cover – I can't read the first part of it – it's not in English – or anything I can even guess at. But it's dated 1922 – there's a second inscription under it – same language – 1941. Then '_to my Fanny, there is nothing sweeter than a daughter's love – 1960_.' Then it looks like Fanny gave it to Elsbeth in 77. Then – last year, Elsbeth gave it to –"

"Cicily," I cut her off.

"Is that who you got it from?"

I just nod – I know what that language is that she can't read… _I speak three languages…_ Cicily once said to me. At the time, I didn't want to ask her what the third was because I just wanted her to go away… now I would give almost anything to hear the sound of her voice again. My Christ, it seems like so long ago and it's barely been a month… I can almost smell Beth's garden – hear the tinkling water of her fountain… but – it seems as if bits of the memory are fading… how many steps was it again, from the bedroom to the kitchen? Was the pot wrack to the left or the right…?

"So who is she?"

"Hmmm?"

"Cicily."

_Are you coming back soon? – I hope so – Me too… _me too. Except – I've decided to break that promise…. _No, you only decided to break your promise to Beth,_ the sneakier part of my mind reminds me…

"She's – just a kid," I tell Em, because saying out loud that she's a little angel – _my_ little angel – that would just hurt way too much. "Her mother patched me up after the – after the Day of the Dead," that memory still makes me feel cold inside. "Cicily was reading to me – when we didn't get to finish, she wanted me to have it – " I had no idea it was some sort of family heirloom… but why do I believe Cicily knew _exactly_ what she was doing… she's a very precocious seven, even if multiplying by big numbers messes her up…

"Where did you leave off, do you remember?" Emma asks me.

She can't be serious…

"Come on – I love this story," she coaxes, "And – I have _never_ read it in the original – and this is really – a nearly perfect copy."

Sounds like my little muffin is a bit of a book nut too… ah well, it was one of the few things Holly and I had in common – even if our taste in books was far from similar. "What's your favourite part?" I ask Em.

"The Pirates, of course."

And – I really can't help but laugh…

Emma settles in next to me – it doesn't take us long to find where Cicily left off. I don't even realize I've got my arm draped across my daughter's shoulders until I'm quite certain we've been sitting this way for quite some while…

--------------------------------------------

Notes from real life: the check out clerk not carding old guys thing really happened to my husband and I – and while my guy isn't quite as well preserved as Johnny Depp – it did come as horrible a blow to his poor ego (and is something I continue to tease him about!)

Likewise with the salad conversation – my hubby and his brother insist that all you need for a salad is a wedge of ice burg lettuce and some dressing… Both myself and his brother's partner look at them in utter disgust as we start breaking out the field greens, vegetables, sunflower seeds, crutons, etc… although I should fess up – I spent six years as a vegetarian – in my "impoverished youth" (you know, I was a college kid) – and ramen and tofu was it most days...

Lastly, it'll theoretically be a little while before the next chapter – because theoretically we're painting this weekend! We had to put it off last weekend when the 'plague' hit the house… plague, common cold, same thing when you have a nine year old… ; )


	22. There is Nothing Either Good or Bad

(Well, the painting has gone more quickly than expected (amazing what an ol' cattle prod under the husband's bum can do to get things moving along! So it looks like we have another short chapter ready to go…)

**Capt-Jacks-Bonnie-Lass & Midnightmuse: **Again, many thanks! Yes, Sands the over protective parent… imagine what he really would do if a boyfriend came to call…

_**Chapter Twenty One:**_

_There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so_

"So – how about helping the sight impaired guy get ready for his big day?" I ask Emma when we decide to call it a day on the book, right around six.

She hands the book back to me, "What do you need?"

"There should be black and red shirt in the closet – assuming Milo didn't lied to me about what I was buying," I wouldn't quite put it past him… I know how much he loves my wardrobe. "Could you find me that – and my black suit coat?"

"Sure."

I can handle the jeans myself – the black ones are to the left, the dark blue ones are to the right – I never wear faded jeans or any of those funky colours. I grab from the left-hand pile in the drawer and move on to find some undies in the next drawer down. Yes – my wardrobe for the day. And yes, a lot of thought has gone into it… "My stuff is on the left," I add to Emma, as I hear her approach the closet.

She chuckles just a little after opening the closet door.

"What?"

"Well – let's just say that I would have figured out for myself which side was yours."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"For one thing – by black and red – do you _really_ mean this thing that looks like it came off the set of a John Wayne movie?"

"That would be the one," I grin back at her.

Emma sighs – but says nothing. I hear her looking through the rest of my wardrobe. Everybody's a critic, I swear…

I excuse myself to take care of the basics of the morning – I'll shower after breakfast, but I'm one of those guys who just has to shave and brush his teeth first thing in the a.m. When I come out (having replaced the mask for sunglasses and pulled on a t-shirt in place of my bathrobe), Emma's sitting on the bed with Spencer (I know this because she is murmuring softly to him – I never will quite understand people who talk to animals.) "So what do you feel like for breakfast?" I ask her, anticipating a fairly swift response… I mean, it's not a difficult question or anything…

But no, she's doing that quiet thing again – like when I first brought her 'home' – and last night when she came in to make sure I was all right.

"I can't hear you shrug, you know," I manage not to snap at her.

"Sorry."

I sit down on the bed next to her. The silence that ensues is a whole different kind of awkward that – Christ, was it really only three days ago that we met? "So – you want to tell me what's on your mind – or do I have to start guessing?" I ask when I've had enough silence (trust me, it doesn't take long for me to have had enough.)

I listen as she takes a breath – finding her voice – and finally, "Are you ever going to show me?"

"Show you?" And then it dawns, "Emma – you don't want to see."

"You're right. I don't. But – I don't ever want to be caught off guard either. What if something happens and – I end up seeing on accident? Isn't it better for me to – _know_ ahead of time what you've got under your glasses?"

"I don't have_ anything _under them," the words just slip out, nice and cold, before I can stop them. And of course I instantly regret the tone I took as well as the words themselves – but – damn it, there just is _nothing_ there. _ Nothing_ to see. _Nothing_ to discuss.

"Nothing?" her voice is – small. Afraid. Not – not of me, I don't think – Christ, I hope not. Maybe afraid of – of what happened? Afraid because in her soft cozy world (well, ok, that's horse shit, her world was _never_ soft and cozy, not with a mother who had lupus) but – in her world stuff like what happened to me only happens in the movies – and at the end of the scene, the actors get up and wash off the fake blood and go out for a beer. In real life – in real life, when someone takes a drill to your eyes, they drip down your face and are gone forever…

I find her hand and take it into mine, grateful that she doesn't pull away – in fact, she pulls a little closer to me and I warp my arms around her slim shoulders. "Em – come on, you don't really want to go there. You don't want to – see for yourself."

"I already agreed with you – I don't," she rests her head against my chest, "But – I – should."

"Just know that there is literally nothing there," I tell her in the gentlest tone I can muster – not exactly an easy task, given the subject we're discussing here.

"What – what exactly does 'nothing' mean?"

"It means – nothing, Emma – absolutely nothing."

"Have you considered – cosmetic surgery?"

"I'm not sure – there's anything that could really be done."

"At my old school I was in AP Biology – one of the things we covered was advancements in artificial eyes – sorry."

I guess she must've heard or felt as I swallowed that cold hard lump in my throat. Yeah, this is a real touchy subject… I wonder if there will ever come a day when it isn't.

"I didn't mean – I mean –"

"It's ok, Em," I pull her a little closer – I really have begun to truly enjoy human contact – at least with a few very select people. (I will never be that guy who can hug a complete stranger hello – unless it's to place the knife just so in his kidney – but having my kid in my arms, that's a pretty neat feeling.) "I've already had this conversation with – someone else. The problem isn't just popping a couple of glass balls into – into the ol' sockets, here," I say in a forcedly light tone. This is _not_ the way I wanted to start today… or any other day for that matter.

"Then what is the problem?" she wants to know.

She really doesn't get it... I'm more than a little glad, although I realize it won't last long. Emma seems to be like me, she's not going to stop until she does get it…

"For one thing, I still wouldn't be able to see," I make the attempt at simple logic first.

"But – you wouldn't have to hide behind those glasses, either."

Oh well, I knew simple logic wouldn't work, but I had to at least try… "Em – when I say nothing left – I really do mean _nothing_." _Come on, you're a bright little cookie, please don't make me spell it out… _

And I listen as she quietly digests what I've just said…

"I keep trying to – imagine what it must be like – to – to be able to see one day and be blind the next – to feel like you always have to hide," she holds onto me just a little tighter. "I – I can't make myself grasp it – because – it's so much more than just being blind, isn't it?"

"Emma, I don't want you to grasp it – not ever." Because, yeah, it's a Hell of a lot more than just being blind.

"You were – conscious – when they did it, weren't you?"

Oh Christ… I want to lie to her. But I can't. I should. Maybe a better father would, but… but I know she'd see right through me if I tried and the one thing I do not want to lose is her trust.

"Yes."

She doesn't say anything – but – I think – is she crying or just shaking?

"Emma – it's over. I walked away – that's all that really matters."

"I just can't imagine something so – horrible –"

"Good. You shouldn't even try."

"How did you – how did you –"

"Survive?" I finish for her – I feel Emma's nod against my chest. "I got – lucky. For once in my life, I got lucky." I found someone who gave a shit about my sorry ass… someone who probably still cares about me… And there's that knife in my gut again… _"I'll come back..." – "Please don't. I've had enough empty promises in my life." – "I know." – "What – does that mean?" – "It means I know. Ok?" – She hesitates for an **awfully** long time before I get a rather quiet, rather uncertain sounding Ok out of her. – "Ok," I echo. I press my lips to hers… _ "Come on," I say, forcing myself back to the here and now, "How about breakfast?"

She just nods and I feel her start to sit up, "I – I never did say think you," she says, catching me off guard yet again.

"For what?"

"I know you didn't come for me – but you didn't leave me there, either. I know suddenly becoming a father wasn't in your game-plan – but – I – thank you."

I think – I think I just don't know what to say, but I feel as if I really need to say something. "Plans change."

Plans change, promises get broken… even the promise not to break a promise… _I will do everything that I can to get back as soon as I can – you have my word… _

Emma takes Spencer out back for his morning constitutional while I get breakfast started.

Alison is my own sister, I practically raised her, and I – I used her without a second thought whenever it suited my needs. I never hurt her – but I _used_ her. So what would I do to a woman I barley know? A woman with Beth's past – a – what did she say – like a bit of broken crockery, cracked, fragile… Beth has been hurt enough, she doesn't need a guy like me. She needs – she needs a guy like Milo, only straight. She needs someone who can take care of her – someone who can – who can fill all those hurt places inside with pleasure. Someone who can patch up the cracks in her heart. Someone who will give her everything she needs and more; someone who will give her everything she deserves.

Someone who can _truly_ love her.

Someone – someone who's better than I can _ever_ be.

And why do I have to keep justifying this to myself? What's a promise anyway? Just a few stupid words spoken in a moment of – of selfish weakness…

"Need a hand?"

I nearly jump out of my skin.

"You ok?"

Emma… "Yeah. Yeah, I was just – just thinking about today," I lie to her – but this is one she's likely to believe. "Come here," I motion her towards me… and I'm rewarded by the pleasant sound of a groan. "It's separating eggs, not brain surgery."

"I think I might do better at brain surgery," she tries to take the egg from my hand.

"Rule number one?"

With a heavy sigh, she washes her hands…

… After breakfast (which probably would have been better if I'd just made it myself… but flat omelets aren't the world's greatest disaster), I place my call to that school of hers. By the end of the twenty minutes they force me to remain on the line, I'm really glad I have something more pressing on my calendar today than marching down there and shooting someone. _Hello, I'd like to report that my daughter is going to be absent today_ should** not** require an inquisition worthy of a seventeenth century Cardinal – or maybe Kramer and Sprenger themselves. It really shouldn't require a scheduled conference set for bright and early tomorrow morning either – but agreeing to one is the only thing that gets me off the phone, so – I agree to it.

"I told you that school sucked," Emma tells me.

"I'm going to go have a shower," is my curt reply. On my way up, I snag the portable CD player and put in my favourite CD… it is about the only thing that might have half a chance of getting my blood pressure back to normal in the next hour, which is about how long I have to get ready. I think I'm going to spend a half that hour of it under a very hot shower.

-------------------------------------------

"Milo told me there had been a – change – in your life," Marlina Eddas comments in a cool dry tone, as we walk down the steps of the townhouse. "Although he declined to tell me what it was."

I just smile. It's warmed up outside, the snow is gone… but it's early in the season – there's still a very good chance we'll have more of the white stuff for Christmas. "It came as a bit of a shock," I tell her honestly.

Eddas remains politely mute – I'm sure my little muffin came as quite a shock to her too – although Emma demonstrated that she was capable of being a very gracious hostess; Marlina Eddas arrived while I was still upstairs getting dressed. When I came down, I found the two of them having tea and chatting about innocuous things… Emma, it seems, is much better at small talk than I am. Or at least, she fakes it quite well.

"I'm parked just at the end of the walk," Eddas tells me – she's still a little uncertain around me – I'm not sure if it's me, per se, or if she would be this way around any blind man – or any blind many carrying loaded firearms…

I use the cane to find the car – I hear the remote lock beep and click and open the door to let Spencer in first. As I slide into the passenger seat, I slip the black cowboy hat and set it in my lap (come on, you had to know I'd be wearing it, today of all days). Spencer makes himself comfortable in back (Emma gave him a good brushing while I was in the shower) – and I am genuinely grateful that it shouldn't take us more than twenty minutes to get to our destination, because I'm quite sure Eddas wouldn't approve of my smoking in her car – and I already need another cigarette.

I listen – she gets in – but – hmmm… "Something the matter, there Boss?"

"This – new development in your life – does it change anything?"

Is that genuine concern I hear in her voice?

"Yes. It makes me more anxious than ever to get this situation resolved. Or are you worried about my willingness to put my head on the ol' chopping block, now that I've found myself responsible for such a charming young daughter?"

"It had crossed my mind."

I just smirk, "Lady – my head's on the chopping block no matter what. Don't worry – I'm still your rat."

She doesn't say anything – and I really wonder what Milo has said to her – because bless his heart, the dear boy does not approve of this part.

"Should I assume Milo filled you in on yesterday's developments?" I ask her – because – honestly, I don't think I want to discuss my personal life with my boss any more than absolutely necessary.

"Yes. I got the images via fax this morning. It's – useful –"

"But something Suarez could explain away pretty easily, I know."

"How dirty is she?"

"Other than the possibility of treason and maybe sedition against the Mexican government – I'd say she's no worse than me."

"You certain know how to instill confidence," she tells me – and I feel her easing onto the expressway.

"I figure there's no reason in bull shitting you at this stage of the game, Doll-face. You said it yourself, I am the scum of the earth."

"And didn't _you_ try to overthrow the Mexican government?"

"No. I just tried to ensure that Marquez would over throw it. There is a difference, you know – and I _thought _I was supposed to get rid of Corazon. I certainly never had any intention of letting Marquez keep power – I just underestimate – or perhaps over estimated – one of my little pawns. Still – I suppose it all came out in the wash, especially since no one really wanted Corazon dead anyway." I really need a cigarette…

"Are you going to tell me you've _never_ taken an independent initiative, Officer Sands?"

I favour her with a cute little half-smile, "'Course not, Boss – but I only go out of my way when it's of direct benefit to myself. Frankly, I could care less who sits on Mexico's 'throne.' They all look the same to me. Especially now."

I think – my little dig may have gotten to her… still got the touch…

"My office has been in touch with President Corazon over the weekend," Eddas' voice is like sandpaper.

"How bad is it?" My tone is casual – but – truth is I'm very curious… even if I'm not going back.

"I strongly suggest that you stay out of Mexico for the rest of your life."

We make the rest of the trip in tolerably comfortable silence. It's a short drive, even with morning traffic; all the same, as soon as I'm out of the car, I reach for my cigarettes.

"Nervous?" Eddas asks me.

I just smile at her, "I'm never nervous. I just like to smoke – and we all know that smoking is prohibited in federal buildings." And just about everywhere _else_ these days. (Yes, I'm still bitching about that – just get used to it.)

"I have something for you," she says.

"Awww, gee, you shouldn't have," I reach out to take whatever it is from her…hmmm… "Not to ruin the moment, but I already have a phone."

"It's not a cell phone, it just looks like one. Keep it clipped to your belt."

"So what is it?" I ask, affixing it as requested – which probably surprises her. But I really do know how to play ball.

"It's like a tape recorder – but without the tape."

I can so see that she is just on the cutting edge… probably needs someone to program the VCR for her… "You want me to record my interig – er – _interview_?"

"Of course."

I think I may like working with this lady after all… "You realize it's going to be recorded anyway."

"I don't trust your superiors to give me an unedited copy."

"And this way you'll get to hear anything I say off the record," I add in a deceptively light tone. Yes, I _am_ beginning to like this lady – but I also realize that giving her the unedited version of my debrief could get me into more trouble than I'm in already (yes, boys and girls that actually_ is_ possible…)

"Don't get the wrong idea," Eddas says to me…

I'm about to assume she means one thing, when I feel her hand press against my waist (well, against the 'phone') – nonetheless, "Jeeze, Darlin', usually I make a girl wait until at _least_ the second date before getting fresh. Is it even appropriate, with you being my new boss and all –?"

Her exasperation is most audible. "It's recording now," she tells me in a very flat tone.

I knew that – my grin tells her so (not that I really think she thought I thought she was making a pass at me…)

"And yes – the idea is to also catch anything that is said off the record as well as to record your official debriefing and anything else that gets said regarding you, Mexico, Suarez or Collins. So, for the record, I'm going to repeat the fact that you have been given _full_ immunity in exchange for your cooperation in this matter. Satisfied?"

"Depends on your definition for full cooperation," I say – hey, as long as we're dancing…

"What you're doing today. And the fact that you've come to work for my office."

Hmmm… not quite exactly our deal, but there are probably things_ she _doesn't want on the record either. Ok, I can dig that. "So what's the battery life on this thing?"

"Twelve hours."

I just nod and flick my cigarette to the ground – listen for the hit – stamp it out with the heel of my boot. Wonder what Eddas thinks of that…

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I slide the hat on and take Spencer's lead.

"Would you like – me to – "

I just smile – it's an almost-earnest smile (which I know has got to frighten her more than when I'm being flippant), "I've gotten pretty good at this." And besides – I want to make just the right first impression… so cane in one hand, Spencer's lead in the other, we head across into turf that is familiar to me, even blind…

…Getting through security proves mildly amusing. The metal detector probably lights up like a Christmas tree as Spencer I and march through (after I've – deliberately – bumped into the table where kindly obliging guests are asked to deposit their keys).

(I've already pegged that there are three people stationed here, two males, one female – she's wearing entirely too much cologne, so she's either old or young, I won't know until she speaks. I know from numerous previous visits that all three are armed – but not exactly dangerous. Ok, I look at 'dangerous' in relative terms, folks. So relatively speaking, what we have here are a couple of Cub Scouts and a Brownie. Like I said, it's a _mildly_ amusing experience.)

"Um – we seem to have a problem here, sir, I'm terribly sorry," one of the young men says in a very sweetly polite tone – I do believe that he is down right _mortified_ that the metal detector has reacted at all. "Maybe it's your cane –"

"Oh – right – sorry – " I respond in an equally apologetic (i.e. sarcastic) tone. I dig out my badge making good and sure that all three of them get a really good gander at what I'm packing. "My bad, I should have identified myself." I hand over my ID, just a few degrees off from where the nice young man is actually standing – he compensates without a word – but – that startled little sound coming from his throat just makes my day.

Eddas makes her way through the metal detector without any ado whatsoever (naturally) and mutters something not quite under her breath about not having all day as she comes to stand by my side. I do believe it's aimed more towards security than me – so much for me following her lead – oh well, she'll have her chance in few minutes. Hopefully… this really could take all day.

"Um – if – you could just wait a moment more – Officer Sands – I have to – make a call," says my mortified little security guy.

I shrug, "The lady says she doesn't have all day – but if you want to piss her off, be my guest." Then I turn to Eddas, "You know – that's a really very funny expression."

"What is?" She doesn't sound amused.

"That you don't have all day. I mean – really – you _do_ have all day, and many more hereafter – you just don't happen to want to spend them here, cooling your heels here."

Her sigh is pure exasperation.

"Um – Officer Sands?" says my boy.

"Hmmm?" I turn my head almost in his direction (doing that Ray Charles thing again.)

"Um – Sir – Director Mitchel would like to see you. Now, Sir."

"Right, of course – I'm sorry, what was your name – you seem to have me at a slight advantage here, you see," I smile a smile that looks more forced than it really is – and I do believe that was a wince I hear, because you _know_ what I said was no accidental slip of the tongue.

"Um – Roger – Sir – "

"We're on our way to _see_ Director Mitchel," Eddas cuts in, in a sharp tone. "_If_ you don't mind." I'm reasonably certain that's directed at Roger… and I almost feel sorry for the poor kid (his compatriots are be doing little more than enjoying the show – makes me wonder if this happens all the time...)

"Tell me, is that Roger something, or something Roger?" I ask, reaching out my hand to take my ID back from him (just a little off from where I know he is, of course.)

"Roger Dallas," he answers – placing the ID carefully into my outstretched hand.

I wonder what would this kid do if someone really dangerous walked through the door… I mean… well you know what I mean. I pocket it and turn to Eddas, "So, are we off to see the Wizard or what?"

She practically drags me to the elevators…

… "Are you_ always_ like this?" Eddas inquires, as the doors slides shut with a soft mechanical _shhhhpf_. (Funny, I'd never really noticed that sound before…)

"Like what?" I as in a tone of absolute (and absolutely feigned) innocence.

"That's what I was afraid of."

I chuckle, "That was just the warm up, Doll-face – we're on our way to the real performance now, and let me tell you, the critics in this town are a bitch."

"You must have been the class clown when you were in school."

That almost gets me laughing for real, "Quite the opposite. I was the quiet kid who sat in the corner watching everyone. You know, the way neighbours always describe serial killers after the fact 'he was such a nice, quiet young man' – well that was me."

"_Would_ you characterize yourself as a serial killer, Officer Sands?"

Trying to get me to admit to something on tape – or just questioning the wisdom of being alone with me in an elevator… I wonder… "Tell me, which way is the wind blowing, do you know?"

"What?"

"You see, I am but mad north-north west – but when the wind blows southerly, I _know_ a hawk from a handsaw."

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

I'm not quite sure if she wants to laugh – or have me committed… "Hamlet. Act two, scene – something or another."

"You – like – Shakespeare?"

I think what she means to ask is if I _understand_ Shakespeare… and yes, yes I most certainly do… However, I answer the question she actually asked, "Just the comedies."

"Hamlet is a tragedy," Eddas tells me.

"Says you. I say it's a comedy."

I think she's very glad when we reach our floor…

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Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger are the authors of a 17th or 18th century manual on torture, the _Malleus Malificarum_ – which just seems like one of those odd tidbits of knowledge that a guy like Sands might have stored in his head. ;-)

The chapter title is another quote from Hamlet… in other words, I was having a hard time coming up with a truly appropriate title, however I think the sentiment more or less covers it.


	23. The Prodigal Son Returns

_Whew, another long one! _

**Midnightmuse **– _Many_ thanks for your kind words! Yes, it is some interview all right (just look at how long the chapter is!)… I had a heck of a lot of fun writing it… and at the end of the chapter I give a hint about the next chapter… I know I'm getting ahead of myself to tell you now… but y'all aren't the only ones waiting for a certain lady's return…

**Capt-Jacks-Bonnie-Lass **– thank you! I hope you didn't get into _too_ much trouble almost laughing out loud in the library. Sands and his daughter – yes, very difficult for them both… (and let me just say that there've been times when I've called in for my daughter – NOT a trouble maker by any stretch – and I've felt like I was dealing Spanish Inquisition!)

**Devi JXC** – thank you – your review made my morning! Glad you're enjoy this – please let me know what you think of the rest of it.

**Quick** – anyone who tells me I'm the best doesn't have to sweat missing a couple of chapters for review! Thank you.

------------------------------------

Casting for this chapter:

_Douglas Mitchel_……………………….Chi McBride (Boston Public and more recently a brief stint House MD)

_Paula Basil_………………. Izabella Scorupco (lots of stuff – most recently Exorcist, The Beginning – perhaps more notably Goldeneye and Vertical Limit – basically she's this gorgeous model turned actress)

_Marcus Lewin_ ……………….. John Spencer (West Wing)

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A/N – I have NO idea how the CIA would conduct an official debriefing, so I'm honestly flying by the seat of my pants… in other words, if I'm way off mark… well, please don't sue me I really don't have anything worth taking anyway (except for debt, but I don't think that counts…)

;-)

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**Chapter Twenty Two:**

_The Prodigal Son Returns_

Ahh, the smells of home… industrial carpet, industrial cleaners, industrious paper pushers hard at work. I love coming back in after long hard tour in the field – reminds me what it's all about… right.

I fold up the cane as we walk from the elevator the twenty paces or so to Mitchel's door (when I drop the lead, Spencer moves in closer, matching pace exactly with me – I should send Zach a fruit basket or something. I was a miserable student – but – he did an amazing job here… with both of us, really.) As I walk, I listen to the startled gurgles and snide little comments from what seems like a dozen or so onlookers, gawking, as if at a train wreck, from the certain security of their doorways. On this floor, you see, I am a known commodity – known for being a trouble maker, that is. And it would seem as if word of my return has traveled faster than the elevator car that brought us up here: Sheldon Jeffrey Sands is still alive – and well – and here he is for your viewing pleasure... Oh my yes, he's home all right – with a dog and a cane – and lady from DOJ. No wonder Eddas wanted to do this bright and early, this is the best time to ensure a really good audience. An audience that I am ignoring, despite the fact that at least a few of them who were actually brave enough to speak to me.

It is only at the second to last doorway that I stop. I don't have to wait for Marcus to speak, I smell the cigar smoke on his cloths and extend my hand, grinning a genuine grin in his direction.

"Well, well, lookie see here what the cat done drug in at last – Sheldon Jeffrey Sands," he says in a warm Mississippi drawl that is one hundred percent authentic.

"So how many people lost that last bet, there kemo sabe?" I inquire.

"Oh – I'd say there are quite a few folks round these parts not too happy to see you alive and kickin' – course the ones that bet fer ya t' make it home done made themselves a killin' – so to speak." I'm sure he's winking as he says this. Marcus is a delightful old codger – but don't let the demeanor fool you. He'd been around about as long as anyone can remember – and he can still wipe the walls with just about any of us.

"I hope you at least fixed it so that some sore looser couldn't take me out just to collect."

"What – and have a bunch of rookies end up dead tryin' to do it? Mitchel'd have my keester in a sling bigger'n the one he's fixin' to put your skinny little hiney into."

I just laugh, "How goes the most recent pool?"

"Twenty to one you'll end up in the pokey by end of business today – ten to one says you won't even make it 'til lunch."

"Darn – I would have bet it was up to at least fifty to one by now," I grin.

Next to me, Eddas snorts – it's somewhere between contempt and amusement (my best guess is she finds this quite funny, but wouldn't dare risk her reputation by letting anyone figure out that she actually has a sense of humour.)

"Care to get in on the wager, there, Missy?" Marcus asks her (he has to know who she is – but – well, there's a reason a like this guy.)

"Should I even begin to remind you that gambling is illegal?"

"Aww, shucks, ma'am, this is just a li'l ol' office pool – entertainment purposes only. Gotta do something to amuse ourselves around here – once the cold war ended, half us spies ended up in the soup lines."

I have to work very hard not to laugh out loud – Marcus just sounds so – pathetic – when he says it. It's all in his tone… yes, _this_ is the guy who taught me most of my tricks.

"Officer Sands – if you don't mind, we have an appointment to keep," Eddas reminds me in that delightfully exasperated tone I have the sneaking suspicion I'm going to become _real_ acquainted with in the weeks to come…

"Looks like I gotta boogie," I tell Marcus, "You know, old ball and chain and all that." (I imagine Eddas is probably rolling her eyes at me – or perhaps trying very hard not to.) "But hey, if it goes up to a hundred to one, put me down for a C note, would you?"

"Is that fer or again'?"

"For in the pokey by the end of the day."

"You bet, Jeff – just remember, don't let The Man get you down, son."

Hmm… there was an_ awful_ lot of sincerity in his tone just then… I really don't like what that implies…

"Betting against yourself, Sands?" inquires female voice that's rich and velvety like expensive chocolate (the dark, slightly bitter kind) or a heavy red wine; the speaker just behind me, to the left... maybe… ten feet away. And oh yeah, I _know_ that voice… I wonder if she still looks the same… She's wearing this a sort vanilla musky cologne – and wearing it just right (not too much, not too little.) But then again, Paula Basil always was a class act. Five something (just a few inches shorter than me, really), long, copper hair, legs that go up to her… yeah, anyway. What really seals the deal though, is that face – my Christ, she could have been a model. Full lips, big bright eyes – broad smile. I used to love her smile…

See, once upon a time, Paula and I were partners – just about – oh, eight, nine years ago, I think it was. And by partners, I do mean_ partners_ in several senses of the word. I know just how high up those legs go and all about the cute little birth mark just under her… well, never mind. Paula dumped me (in several senses of the word) me after that thing in China. Apparently getting shot didn't sit too well with her… and I suppose it was, in a round about way, sort of - _almost_ my fault. Maybe.

It wasn't the complete and total fiasco I experienced in Mexico – but I suppose it could have been. I mean, we both walked away from it. _In tact_. Other than her being shot – but it was hardly fatal – and I only left her bleeding there for a little while. She's a tough little cookie, she could handle herself – besides, I had a job to finish (and _without_ my partner, so it wasn't like I was exactly having fun either. I was not expecting to have to fly solo through half the op – _she's_ the fucking computer specialist. Yeah, that body and a brain to boot… )

I turn towards her, my face a careful mask of congeniality but there's a carefully calculated edge in my voice, just because I know she expects it. "Paula – it's so _nice_ to see your valuable talents aren't being wasted."

"Quite to the contrary – you and I have an appointment."

She sounds – amused? Pleased with herself… if I could see her eyes… but I don't have time for 'what if's' right now. So I continue to give into what she expects and favour her with a truly lascivious grin. "Do we now?"

"Oh, we do indeed," she coos right back.

Hmmmm…..

"Sands – get in here!" Ahhh, Director Mitchel. How I've missed the sound of his bellow. I've just missed everything about this place, let me tell you… yepperoonie, sarcasm there boys and girls… I think I could have gone another three years without setting foot in this God damned building.

"See you later, Sands," Paula tells me, just a little too sweetly.

I mask the clenching of my jaw by turning to Eddas, "Ain't it nice to be loved?"

"You call _this _love?"

"Well – no one's drawn a gun on me."

"Yet."

I just smile in her general direction – and follow the sound of Mitchel's angry, heavy breathing…

CIA Director Douglas Adrian Mitchel is a big imposing man who doesn't take shit from anyone. He believes – quite whole heartedly – that he is capable of running the entire world from his armchair. And maybe he can run the whole world from here. But he could never run me, and that just sticks right in his craw. See, he wasn't the director when I started out in the Company – he was pretty high up on the food chain, though, and I happened to find myself under him – so to speak – and – well, let's just say that I have never responded to his brand of authority. Hmmm… ok, I've never really responded to _any_ brand of authority – but Mitchel just reminds me too much of my high school phys ed teacher – and I mean, look at me, do I really look like I enjoyed sweating with a bunch of jocks for forty-five minutes a day? Oh what I wouldn't give to run into some of those guys today… I may not be any kind of body builder – but like everything else, it's not _what_ you have so much as it's knowing how to _use it_ that counts…

"Councilor Eddas, I realize we had an appointment," Mitchel begins.

"Yes. We do. Officer Sands is here with me."

"_With_ you?"

It takes all my strength not to put my arm around her waist and call her something like 'Snuggle Buns' – but – nah, I'll save it for later.

"That's correct. With _me_."

My, my, if she doesn't sound possessive… could it be that the good councilor actually takes care of her little rats? (Hey, if nothing else, for a little cheese I'll keep coming back… I'm not cheap, but I _am_ easy.)

And I think about now Mitchel's blood pressure must be spiking right through the roof, because unless he's seriously cut out the cream puffs and KFC, he's a big boy. (Now, _just _for clarity's sake, please allow me this moment to say something: my use of the term 'boy' in conjunction with a man of African descent is most assuredly_ not_ meant to imply any sort of racist undertone – or overtone, for that matter. I _think_ it was George Carlin who put it more or less this way – I am an equal opportunity asshole. I hate everybody equally. Black. White. Little and green from Mars – it makes no difference… people suck.)

Mitchel seems to have turned his attention on me: "What in the name God Almighty is going on here, Sands – _what_ happened down there – and **_what_** **_the fuck_** is with that dog?" (With each question, his volume doubles until he's starting to sound just a little bit like that Diamanda Galas my muffin adores so much...)

"Surly you've heard of leader dogs for the blind, there, big boss-man." I tell him in a sweetly polite tone, giving the arm of my shades a little tap for emphasis. "As for what's going on – I'm reporting in, in person because to call my operation 'compromised' would be the understatement of the century. Which should pretty much cover the what happened down there question as well, I think."

"How did you get out of Mexico without anyone knowing – without _me_ knowing?"

I nod in the general direction of my escort.

"When it became clear that _you_ weren't going to do anything to get this officer out of what had clearly become an extremely volatile situation – _my_ office pulled him out," she tells Mitchel in an icy tone (note to self, do not get on this woman's bad side….) "Of course you can expect a _full_ investigation of the **entire** affair."

"Your office – what – Sands, you'd better have a Hell of a good story to tell me."

"Oh – it's got everything – dirty cops, pretty girls, good tequila, drug dealers, an insane doctor – real mad scientist type – there's a president and a general bent on taking power – and _just_ for fun, there's even a gun toting mariachi. If I were you, I'd start popping some popcorn, there big boy – because you're gonna _love_ this." I do believe there was so much sarcasm dripping off my tongue that I'm standing in a puddle of up it that goes up to my knees…

"Basil!" He bellows. Then turns his attention back to me, "Officer Basil will debrief you, Sands. And it had better be as good you seem to think it is. There's a warrant out for your arrest – and I really hope I get to execute it."

You know, the way he says 'execute', one might think it's more than the warrant he's fantasizing about… Eddas doesn't correct him – but… no, I'm not going to stop believing in her now. If she's half the attorney I think she must be, she realizes that timing is everything… either that or she's seriously concerned that one more shock might send the ol' boyo here into cardiac arrest.

The door opens. "Officer Sands, if you'll follow me please," of course, yes, it's Paula… I should have known this was what she meant when she said we hand an appointment… figures they'd get her of all people to do this to me. Paula and I were partners – and _partners_ – for almost a year and a half. She's one of the few people who pretty much knows my shit – and isn't intimidated by me. Of course, having one's eyes drilled out does lend a man a whole new prospective on the universe…

I turn and smile sweetly in her direction, "Think you could lend me an elbow?"

I think that behind me, Mitchel is turning purple with rage. He likes surprises even less than I do (if that's possible) – Eddas, on the other hand, if I don't miss my mark, is probably standing there looking very quietly smug. And in front of me – more of that big black unknown. Paula hadn't actually answered me – but when I reach towards her, my hand lands on an elbow. Mmmm – she's wearing cashmere. I wonder what colour; she looks dead sexy in red… and for her kind assistance, I thank her in Mandarin (which I'm sure earns me a sour look) – and take up Spencer's lead in my other hand.

Paula takes the hallway slowly – I'm sure she's scrutinizing the Hell out of me trying to figure out if I'm faking it. _No, no sweetcakes, this part really is for real…_ but I'll wait until she asks to say so.

"Nice cologne – something new?" I ask, making a very poor (and entirely intentional) stab at small talk.

"Not really. But – you haven't been around in so long – I guess it's new to you."

"I think I like it better than that flowery crap you used to wear. This stuff actually suits you."

"That 'flowery crap' cost almost eighty bucks an ounce."

"Ok, I like it better than that _expensive_ flowery crap you used to wear."

She just snorts a little – I doubt she's willing to let herself laugh in front of me. But at least she guides me down the hall without slamming me into anything – or anyone.

Those little whispers persist as we pass – I catch bits and pieces of what's being said – but it isn't anything surprising.

"So, how much did you loose?" I ask her as we round another corner. We're headed towards the back hall, away from the elevators – ergo, the opposite direction of freedom…

"Loose – are you kidding? I bet a grand on you coming out of Culiacan alive. You just paid for my vacation, Mister."

"Nice to know someone around here had a little faith in me."

"It has nothing to do with faith, Jeff – I know you. You're like a cat – you have nine fucking lives – although I'm so sure you didn't use up your last one, this time."

There is something about her tone that I just do not like (it's too damned sincere)… but I keep my thoughts to myself.

"So is this for real?" she asks, just a few paces later.

"Is what for real?" (I know what she means, but I want her to say it. I want to know what she's thinking.)

"The dog and pony show."

So she's not convinced. I just smile, "'Fraid, so, Hot Lips."

And she doesn't even seem to bristle at my old pet name for her… "You realize I'm going to insist that the white coats verify that," she tells me in a bland tone.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to handle the verification all by your lonesome, even without a medical degree."

I feel her almost falter a step – probably trying to figure out just exactly what I mean by that… but she says nothing.

"So who did you piss off to get this detail, anyway?" I ask her, as we arrive at one of the small conference rooms at the end of the corridor (I did mention that these were well away from the elevators, didn't I? Ok, so maybe I am a trifle bit nervous.)

"Just my luck – I happened to be in the building today," Paula says with an air of 'I really couldn't give a crap' – I don't believe _that_ for a New York second. This is the CIA, there are no coincidences.

I let Spencer guide me, but I walk with one hand out stretched so that I don't bump into the table that I know is right – about – there. "Good thing nobody around here believes in change," I say, not turning my head to face her. Once I catch the rim of the table in my hand, I feel my way around to a chair, certain that I'm being watched – so I don't over play it. Much.

I park my ass and listen to her pulling her own chair out; she sits just across from me (maybe three feet away) and arranges several items in front of her. Hmmm – paper – file (it can't be my entire file, it doesn't sound big enough) – a vaguely plasticy-metallic clonk – tape recorder probably – something else clonks, sounds ceramic…

"Can I get you a cup of coffee before we get started?" She asks in a congenial tone.

"I've had plenty, thanks – but some water would be just dandy – assuming you're planning on keeping me talking all day."

"I don't want to be here any more than you do."

"I don't suppose anybody changed the rules about smoking in here?" I ask before she leaves.

"When did you start caring about the rules?"

"I don't – but – it's one less thing for us to argue about. Since neither of us wants to be here – I figure I'll play nice and we can be out of here by lunch. Deal?" I offer her an almost friendly smile.

"What really makes you think you're going anywhere – except prison?"

"Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

"You were _born_ guilty."

I tsk at her, "You're not really going to let our past – involvement – colour your report, are you, Officer Basil."

She says nothing – but I listen as she leaves the room to get me a glass of water… now, I know this game. And she knows I know it. You leave the guy alone in the room with his file to see if he gets all nosey – what, you don't honestly think that the room isn't monitored, do you? This is CIA headquarters – Spy Central. So with this in mind, I slide my chair back and motion for Spencer to 'come'. Let them get a good look at me petting my doggy… heh.

I'm sure the sight catches Paula off guard when she returns, "That thing doesn't bite, does it?" she asks me off-handedly.

"Nah – Spencer's a big ol' marshmallow, just like me."

"Right. Hope you don't mind – we're all out of bottled water," she sets a glass and pitcher down in front of me.

I instruct Spencer to lay back down and slide the chair back into place, careful not to bump the table. Then I find the pitcher's handle and give it an experimental shake – no ice. "How sweet – you remembered."

"Of course," she smirks right back at me.

I hate fucking ice. I don't put it in my booze, and I don't want it in my water – and let me tell you, the only place I _ever_ better find a lime is my tequila. I do not understand people who put fruit in their God damned water… not that there's any chance of that happening around here.

I reach for the glass; it's empty. Another test. But no, I'm not going to spill it – that would just be too obvious. Although – I gotta tell ya, _not _spilling it is a lot more work than spilling it. You just try pouring water into a glass with your eyes shut sometime…

"You seem to be managing all right," she says… hmmm…. Sincere interest? Too hard to tell. But she hasn't started the tape yet – so we're still off the record… hmmm… hmmmmmmmmmmm, things that make you go hmmmmmmmm…

"I've had some time to adjust," I keep my tone carefully neutral. Still feeling this one out… maybe she is too.

"Day of the Dead?" Paula asks – her tone is just a little - quiet. Of course she could be trying to play me, get me to believe she's the caring ex girlfriend… not that she was ever really more than a fuck-buddy, although she _may_ think that enough time has passed to make me forget that... hmmmm… (I honestly have a hard time believing she'd think I'd fall for something so – lame. Paula Basil_ knows_ me…)

So with all that in mind, I raise my glass in her direction and smile. "Give the girl a gold star," I say and then take a sip. Now – really, it could have been anything in that pitcher – but – I doubt it contained anything more deadly that D.C's. tap water (which admittedly_ is_ a little scary, but Hell, I was in butt fucking Mexico, for three years, so…) If they want me, they've got me, they don't have to poison or drug me. And given the company I arrived in – it would raise just too many awkward questions if I suddenly keeled over in the middle of my debriefing… which isn't to say I'd put it past my superiors in the CIA. Remember, these are the same guys who gave _me _a gun.

"What happened?" Paula asks – more of that sincerity…

"Shouldn't you be recording this, there Hot Lips?" I inquire – although somewhere in the back of my brain is Milo telling me that there are people in this world who might have cared about me if I'd given them half a chance… but somehow I doubt that this woman is one of them. Last I checked, she still had it in for me because of China.

I listen as Paula hits a button on the tape recorder – it's situated directly between us. "All right – for the record, this interview is being recorded. Officer Paula Ruth Basil conducting a debrief of –" she prompts me.

"Officer Sheldon Jeffrey Sands," I oblige. I really need a cigarette…

"For the record, Officer Sands, please state your last official posting."

_I'm just walking my beat, friend, Mexico's my beat and I'm walking it… _My own words haunt me… _I throw shapes, they catch them... I set them up, I watch them fall… _except it's hard to watch anything any more… "Mexico. Specifically, the province of Culiacan. I was working directly under the direct supervision of Officer Dan Collins."

"All right. Since your last official check in was October thirteenth, let's start there – and let's start with why it's taken you just over a month to report in, Officer Sands."

"Well – two things. First, my last official check in was on the first of November – and second, I'd like to go back about – oh, six months or so, if you don't mind, and start _there_ instead."

"Your last official check in was October thirteenth," she corrects me tersely, "And we have your reports from before that already, so there's no need to go back and rehash what we already know. Your – activities – in Culiacan have already been well documented."

I reach over and find the stop button (these machines are all pretty much made the same way.)

She doesn't speak quite right away – when she does – it's that fucking tone again. "Come on Jeff – let's just get through this, ok? There's only so much delaying of the inevitable that even _you_ can do."

"Actually, Doll Face, I'm not trying to delay anything," yes, there is a definite edge to my voice now – it's a warning and she'd fucking well better pay attention to it. There are actually certain advantages to having someone who knows my shit do this, even if I had walked into the building with an entirely different tactic in mind.

"Then if you don't mind – "

I hear her reach out for the recorder – and my hand is on top of hers before she realizes I've moved. Looks like she was starting to 'buy the blind act' – because I've never been able to get the drop on Paula this easily before. I can almost hear her jaw clenching – just like Alison, she thinks I'm playing her. But we'll address _that_ issue later…

I give Paula's hand an almost friendly little squeeze (well, ok, it could be construed as threatening, too… I'll let her make up her own mind what my intention really is.) "Listen, I have every reason to believe the Company was getting the same kind of abridged information on _me _as I was getting on – well, everything."

"What exactly are you implying, Jeff?"

"Implying – I'm not _implying_ anything, I'm saying it. I was fucking set up."

"You really expect me to believe that?"

I kick back and reach for my smokes.

"Um – no smoking, remember?"

"Like you said, I never much cared for rules – and since it looks like we're going to end up arguing anyway," I light one up. "Might as well make it over something I care about."

"You're telling me you care more about being able to smoke, than going to prison?"

I shrug at her, "It's all relative."

"I really don't believe you – you haven't changed one bit, have you?"

"Oh – I've changed plenty. I'm meaner now than I ever was before." Ok, now no one can say I didn't warn her.

I hear her take a long, deep breath, probably reminding herself just why she hates me so much.

"Tell you what, Sweetcheeks, be the good little Girl Friday you always were, and get me an ashtray –_ then_ I'll tell you all about it." I take a nice long slow drag of my smoke.

She flips the recorder back on, apparently refusing to be baited. For now. "Back to October thirteenth – do you think you could outline, for the record, your activities, starting with after you spoke to Officer Collins on that day?" She sounds just oh so officious.

"I'd have to look that up in my date book – oh, wait, small problem there – can't really_ look_ anything up any more."

"Just do your best from memory, please, Officer Sands."

"October thirteenth – well, let's see – you know, if you really want the whole story – the cause of this effect, as it were – or rather, the cause of this _defect_, for this effect defective comes by cause – to wit, the shit that went down on November Second – we really _must_ to go back six months, there Sweetcakes. Nothing else will do." (I only ever called her Hot Lips in private – or at the very least when I was sure the conversation wasn't being recorded by the CIA. I don't really give a rat's ass what Eddas thinks of my private life.)

"Officer Sands –" of course Paula's heard me badly quoting the Prince of Denmark before…

"In simpler terms, for the more thick-skulled members of my audience," I wiggle my fingers at the corner of the room most likely to have the hidden camera, "I need to take you back six months, if we're going to even begin to get to the bottom of what _really_ went down on the La Dia de los Muertos. That would be November Second, for those in the audiance unfamiliar with Mexican holidays."

"I've got 'the bottom of what went down' sitting right across from me, right now, Officer Sands. You. _You're_ what happened. You screwed up – and dozens of Mexican citizens lost their lives because of you. Even more lost property – it was a Hell of a mess down there –"

"Gee, I never would have noticed – but – you know what they say, if you want to make an omelet, you have to be prepared to crack a few eggs."

"So you admit that it was your fault?"

Dream on, sister. "I admit that I was in Culiacan – in the direct line of fire when the shit went down. Tell me, where were you when I was getting shot – I took several bullets that day – not to mention the 'other injuries' – but we'll skip those for now."

"Where I was – and the injuries you sustained – are not the point of this investigation, Sands –"

"Fair enough." That has to surprise her. "Just tell me this – _where the fuck was my backup?_" It's more a growl than a roar – but if I didn't get her attention before, I'm sure I've got to have it now… she has to remember just what this tone implies about my state of being (what she never did get is that it's all a part of the act. There have been very few times when I've lost control – I mean_ really_ lost control.)

"What backup?" Paula wants to know.

Yeah – I hear it in her voice – she remembers what I'm like when I'm dancing on the razor's edge…

"The backup I asked Collins to send me about three seconds before he fucking hung up on me. On November first. I told him I'd lost my inside guy – I'd been sold out by one of my people – real sweetheart named Cucuy – and I was pretty darned sure the cartel was shadowing me. In other words, _Doll face_, I knew the shit was about to hit the fan and I told Collins so. If he'd sent me some fucking backup like I asked him to, things wouldn't have gone to Hell in that cute little hand basket." Which probably isn't true, but anyway…

"There was no call for backup. We have the logs from Collins' phone. Your last check in was on the thirteenth of October. There were no calls from your phone to his after that. Now – let's try this again, from the top –"

"You know – maybe this would go faster if you just tell me what happened since you don't seem to believe a word I have to say on the subject anyway." I take a nice little breath so as not to break the façade that I'm seething – I_ would_ be freaking out right about now if I hadn't walked into this building of my own volition (more or less) with Marlina Eddas…. As it is, it's all I can do to control the panic threatening to break loose, because apparently they really have already made up their minds about me. And it's a fuck of a long way to those elevators…

"We know _what_ happened, Sands. What I want from you is exactly _how_ it happened."

"Right." This time I let that deep breath show through. Ok, here we go… "Approximately six months ago I met an AFN officer named Ajedrez Cardinas. Now – I still don't know if it was just coincidence or if she knew I was CIA all along. We met in this little cantina near the motel where I'd taken up residence – service stinks, but the pibil – that's this amazing slow roasted pork – nothing fancy mind you, but you know how much I love pork – oh, you're still Jewish aren't you? I always thought that was such a pity – I mean, you can't have ham on Easter Sunday or go out for a cheeseburger – oh wait, you guys don't really do Easter, do you?"

"Would you please just get on with it?"

"I mean, I suppose you're _partially_ responsible for Easter –"

"Officer Sands. Mexico."

"Right. Where was I? Oh yeah, this particular cantina has really lousy service, but the pibil is – _almost_ – to die for – not that you'd ever know, being Jewish and all that." I listen as her jaw tightens, but refrain from smiling… "So one night in walks this woman – and – mmmm-hmmmm, man was she stacked – a real brick house, legs all the way up to her –"

"I get the picture. Please. Continue."

And – honestly, _this_ is the hard part, talking about Ajedrez – because just _thinking _about her puts stones in my gut and makes me hurl. However, I can assure you that no one watching or listening to me would know it… "I'll bet the picture you undoubtedly have of her in that file I can hear you flipping through doesn't even begin to do her justice. She was _truly_ one sweet little piece of ass – and she was just fucking all over me – not that I'm not used to hot little numbers being all over me – but –" (the implication is obvious.)

"Fine," Paula slams the file shut, "She was hot. She was all over you like – cheap perfume – and apparently you liked it. The question is why did you let her bring you into her father's cartel?"

Oooh, I think I just hit a nerve…

"Let her – hmmm – well, all right, if you want to get really technical about it, I didn't really resist her efforts to bring me in – but that's because I was doped up pretty good. That would be thanks to one of Dr. Emil Guevara's drug cocktails – I'm sure you've got a file on him somewhere. So – um – given the circumstances, it wasn't that much of an option but to 'let' myself be brought in – but hey, feel free to put whatever kind of spin on it you want to in that official report of yours, there Sweetstuff."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was waiting at a joint called the Flying Cow – don't ask me, I didn't name it – but I was waiting there for the new line I'd just requested – this would be November the first – you know the date of my last check in – the one you keep telling me didn't happen? It was, in fact, less than fifteen minutes after Collins hung up on me – oh wait, that's right, that conversation never happened either. My bad. Well, so after someone who_ sounded_ an awful lot like Dan Collins hung up on me, I went to the Flying Cow to meet Ajedrez for lunch – and as I was beginning to suspect that I'd been hung out to dry, I placed a call for a new line just before she arrived. Someone was going to meet me – but well – shit happens. Or perhaps it doesn't happen, you'll have to tell me."

"So this lunch date – was_ that_ when you decided to join up with Barillo? Or had that already happened – perhaps while you and Cardinas were doing the ol' horizontal mambo."

"Horizontal mambo – that's a good one – I like that. Oh, but that's 'Baryeeo' – not 'Brilo' – didn't you ever take Spanish?"

"Just answer the question, Officer Sands. _When did you join **Barillo**_?" She pronounces it correctly at last.

"That would be – hmmm – nope, I can't say as I recall _ever_ making that decision. The only thing I _think_ I did, was try to get Ajedrez Cardinas to arrest him – you know, to keep him out of the way so that everything would move along nice and smoothly during the 'festivities' I'd planned for the Day of the Dead."

"You tried to get his own daughter to arrest him?"

"Well you see, there Doll face, that's where it gets a wee bit technical. All I knew at the time was that she was this sweet little ANF agent I'd been fucking – I had no idea who her old man was when I suggested to her that she should arrest him for me. I mean, I wouldn't have gone through the trouble to find out when and where he'd be on the Day of the Dead if I thought she already knew. And let me tell you, it was a bitch to get that information. I ended up loosing one my best little stool pigeons in the process."

"How can you claim not to have known who she was – you _asked_ for a background check? Did you just not bother to read it?"

"Oh, I read it. I requested a background check on Cardinas a couple of months ago when she gave me the key to her flat – you know, just following procedure – I really do do that once in a while, you know."

"Uh-huh."

"Well – I like I said, asked for a background check on her. It was handed to me by Dan Collins _personally_ – I have mentioned him, right, the guy who was _supposed_ to be watching my ass while I was out there in the field."

"Watching your ass would be a full time job, Sands."

"You interested in the position?" I ask in a perky sort of tone.

"You requested a background check and received it from your supervisor. Two months ago. Then what?"

"Well, apparently there was teesny little discrepancy between what he received and what he gave me. You see – the background check that Collins handed over didn't mention the fact that Cardinas was the fruit of Barillo's loom. So – you can imagine my surprise when – "

I hear her slam down the off button on the tape recorder. "Just what kind of game do you think you're playing here, Jeff?"

"No games. Not this time." Well – that's a lie – but she doesn't need to know I'm playing a game with a game for Eddas' benefit… and frankly, I haven't even begun to pluck at those harp strings yet… but give it time, give it time.

"Are you _honestly _trying to tell me that Dan Collins knew who Cardinas was, and knowingly withheld that information from you?"

"All I'm saying is what I said – if you happen to want to say what you just said – well, just be my guest and say it. Should I stomp this out on the carpet or would you like to surrender that cup of yours. It's got to be cold by now anyway – and I know you hate cold coffee."

She's fuming. I'm not quite sure what over – but she is pissed. Just the same, I hear her shove the cup in my direction – I manage to intercept it before it hits my lap'

"You always were the selfless one," I plop my cig-butt into the remains of her coffee.

"God damn it, Jeff – what is going on here?"

"You tell me, Hot Lips – you seem to have all the answers anyway. Apparently none of the things I remember happening really happened – but let me tell you, for imaginary bullets, they sure packed a hell of a wallop."

"You don't get it, do you? You screwed up – and you've been caught red handed. There is no way out – none of your clever little double talk will save you this time. Now please, just – be straight with me."

"Paula – you're the one who doesn't get it. I was screwed over – _burned_. Slow fucking roasted. Collins hung me out to dry with my dick flapping in the wind – and I want to know why."

"If you were burned, it was only because you were already a lost cause, Jeff. You've been a lost cause – a _liability_ for years – you're just too blind to see it."

Ouch – ok that hit a nerve with me – I wonder if she realizes it… no, no, I don't think she does. Or at the very least, I'm not going to let it show… much… because you see, the very best lies and façades have just a shade of the truth behind them… it is truly all about balance. So, I put just the right amount of genuine hurting in my voice now: "Well, you're right about one thing, Doll face. I_ really_ didn't see it coming."

"Whatever happened down there, you brought it on yourself, Jeff. You always do." But yes – that is real hurt in her voice too…

At the same time, the little light that's been sputtering in the back of my brain turns itself on… "How long have you been on this?" I ask in a tone that would curl Jack Frost's nose hairs.

"They put me on you when you failed to report in. I've been in Mexico – but when that didn't turn up anything useful – I came back home. Just my luck you turn back up the same day I come in."

I light up another cigarette. "Yeah. Gypsies."

"What?"

"Never mind. When do I get my shit back?"

"What shit?"

"Don't tell me your guys didn't ran-sack my pad in Mexico City – and there'd better not be anything missing, either. I know my shit like I know the back of my hand. _Especially_ my porn – which I suppose I really know more like I know the palm of my hand."

Her exasperation is audible. "Currently, your belongings are being regarded as evidence. Depending on the outcome of my investigation you'll get it all back when we're done – or in – twenty to life?"

"Dream on – I know what I'm looking at. I also know it isn't going to happen. I was fucking set up and I intend to prove it."

"How?"

"For starters, I _made_ those calls."

"The logs –"

"I don't give a flying fuck – or even a flying cow – about the logs. I know what I did – and I know what I didn't do. And I don't care how many God damned Gypsies I pissed off – I'm not going to prison for somebody else's crimes."

"If you're bucking for an insanity defense, Jeff, it's not going to work – not even with your psych profile."

"I don't know – smells like a southerly wind to me," I give her a broad grin.

I listen as Paula takes a deep breath and reaches over to turn the recorder back on. "On _October thirteenth_ you reported that you had intel regarding a General Marquez - specifically that he had been recruited by Armando Barillo to overthrow President Corazon of Mexico. Is this information correct?"

"Are you asking if the information itself correct – or is the information that I turned the information over to Collins correct?"

"Knock it off and answer the question."

"That's like saying shut up and tell you something. The two conditions are mutually exclusive of one another –"

Yes, it's going to be a long ass day for both of us… you know what they say, misery loves company…

...but all good things do, in their own good time, come to an end. After having me repeat my version of the days leading up to the Day of the Dead backward and forwards a dozen times over, Paula finally kills the tape. (The entire debrief took four tapes – and I was ready to kill something about three and a half cassettes ago… like I said, she made me go over my story backwards and forwards a dozen times… and you know it never changed.)

Paula stands. "Officer Sands, at this time I'm going to ask you to surrender your badge."

"Am I under arrest?" I 'look' up at her.

"That's up to someone else – but at the very least you've been suspended from duty. Indefinitely."

I shrug. And hand over the wrong ID… Eddas did say she wanted them to come away with the impression I'd been in her office for longer than just four days… and I was waiting for just this very moment to play this particular string…

"Before you leave, we're going to get that 'vision problem' of yours verified – " she says (because I've left that detail out intentionally…)

Then, I hear just the tiniest of gasps out of Paula as she flips open my ID – probably to make sure I haven't passed off an empty case.

"Sorry, must've gotten my pockets backwards this morning – I've had _some_ time to adjust – but it really has only been a few weeks – some of this stuff I'm still getting the hang of – and they both feel about the same." I hand Paula my CIA ID from the other pocket.

"Jeff – what's going on?" She hasn't let go of the DOJ ID just yet…

"Just call me Mickey."

"Mickey was a _mouse_."

"I know – I just can't seem to think of any famous rats right now – you think maybe someday somebody will name one after me?"

"You – have got to be shitting me," she finally hands the DOJ ID back and takes the 'right' ID from my other hand.

"No more than I'm shitting you about Collins giving me an abridged edition of that background check on Ajedrez Cardinas – or Collins telling me the boys back home wanted Corazon out of the picture."

"Jeff, I told you –"

"I know. I heard you. And I believe you – even if you're unwilling or unable to extend the same courtesy."

"Jeff –"

"And oh, say, by the by, would you like to_ know _what I got for my trouble in Culiacan, other than being accused of treason, having my freedom threatened and getting to spend this lovely Tuesday morning – and afternoon – with you, there Hot Lips?" Sarcasm – but my tone is still deceptively light.

And she's still reeling from the thought of me as a rat for the DOJ… but as I said before, timing is everything… "What's that?"

"Well – as you recall I did say that eventually I found out Cardinas was Barillo's daughter all on my own – after I'd asked her to arrest him of course – talk about an egg on your face moment."

"Yeah – right. Lunch, Flying Cow. You said this Dr. Guevara drugged you – and they held you until the coup was well under way."

"Exactly." I've been intentionally fuzzy on some of the more – poignant details – up until now. "See – I do have to admit to leaving out a small – inconsequential, really – detail from my report – because, well, I knew how many times you'd want to go over it and some things I really only wanted to have to say once. No – don't bother with the tape," I tell her as I hear her reaching for it. "You can put this in your written report and I'm sure it'll be just fine – because what I have to say won't really translate to tape all that well, anyway."

"Ok," she says – good, she's more than a little suspicious…

"See, Ajedrez Cardinas told me herself who she was just about two minutes before her old man and Dr. Guevara did this to me – because, you see, I'd simply _seen_ too much." Now – you know how I generally feel about this – but – when it serves a purpose there really are no lows to which I will not sink... "And well, they just wanted to make sure that never happened again." I slip the sunglasses from my face.

And he sound Paula makes, while difficult to truly describe, is most rewarding.

"I think they did a pretty thorough job, don't you?" My tone is oddly congenial – well, she's got to think it's odd. I just think it'll hit her harder this way than if I gave her the ol' Jack Frost treatment. "So – do I really need to 'see' the white coats, Paula, or do you think you're confident with your ability to asses the cause my loss of sight?"

"I – no – that'll – be just fine. I don't think you need to – visit – the docs."

I put the glasses back into place, "And a parting word of advice there, Hot Lips – don't _ever_ think you're good enough to go up against me. If I'd wanted to, I would have chewed you up and spit you out like a piece of old bubble gum – but I happened to be in an almost good mood today," which is a complete and total lie – I was not in a good mood. But chewing her up and spitting her out wouldn't have accomplished what I needed to accomplish…

"Jeff – "

"Save it for somebody who gives a damn," I growl back at her, flipping the cane open. I take up Spencer's lead and make my escape…

------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Next Chapter:**

_One Cooks, the Other One Doesn't_

Do we all remember who from Sands' immediate past was a really good cook…? ;-)


	24. One Cooks, the Other Doesn’t

Wow – **thank you to my reviewers for making my week!** You guys are the best! You really keep me going and I appreciate it!

Captn-Jacks-Bonnie-Lass – I just wanted to add that your comments on the last chapter helped me shaped the first part of the chapter – your reaction of being mad by the way the CIA treated Sands.

MontanaAntonia – I do have an original novel "in the works" – it's written, but my publisher experienced some (understandable) problems this last year, so I'm sort of stuck in limbo waiting… which gives me plenty of time to work on fanfiction, anyway ;-)

And here we go again, another LONG one!

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I am stone and I am blade  
A sharp eternal instant  
A darker heart a distant moan  
Pleasures deep and spectral instinct  
Look me in the eye  
Speak it to my face  
My hate is cold  
As I fall from grace  
So wish away my gravity  
A curse the one and only  
Lay terror tight unholy flight  
Bear witness to the descent  
Yet nothing is forever  
So come nearer and confess  
But like a tender bruise  
Temptation waits in one caress  
Look me in the eye  
Speak it to my face  
My hate is cold  
As I fall from grace  
Cast me out and save your soul  
From madness rhyme and reason  
You banish doubt I'll spread the fear  
You'd better start believing  
Look me in the eye  
Speak it to my face  
My hate is cold  
As I fall from grace

- Siouxsie and the Banshees -

**-------------------------------------------------------------**

Ryan Moss ……………………… Rupert Evans (Hellboy)

**--------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter Twenty Three:**

_One Cooks, the Other Doesn't _

I need to get out of this room – I need to get off this floor and out of this building. I need to smell the fresh (?) air – and convince myself that they're really letting me go. And the fact that Paula Basil didn't try to disarm me really doesn't make me feel any more certain that the CIA's is going to let me walk out of here a free man… after all, an armed SWAT team could take me down pretty darned easy, no matter how much heat I'm packing…

However, Paula makes no attempt to stop me as I walk out the door with Spencer's lead in one hand, cane in the other. No one stops us in the hall – there are no armed gunmen waiting to take me in or rub me out… I know my way back to the elevators… and I don't even realize I've walked right past Eddas until I notice the scent of her cologne behind me. I don't care… I'm not stopping until I'm out of here.

She falls into step with me. "How'd it go?"

"It went. You been here the whole time?" I reach out and find the button to call for the elevator car – ok, that's the up – so this must be the down.

"I wasn't about to leave you."

"I'm touched," (yes, sarcasm – it's more to mask my surprise than anything else… although she probably just wanted to make sure I didn't screw up – or screw her over.)

The elevator arrives – and still no sign of trouble… "Do I even want to know what time it is?" I ask her as we step into the otherwise empty car.

"Half past four. Have you eaten?"

"No. Not hungry." Does she actually think they even made the offer?

"Why don't you let me buy you lunch anyway?"

I have to make a conscious effort to keep some rather surly comments to myself. Thankfully, Eddas picks up on my ill-humour pretty quick and doesn't say another word to me until we get to her car. I light up a cigarette before getting in. I think I almost feel as if I'm really going to get out of here in one piece… maybe.

"Would you like to go straight home – or can we swing by the office?" she asks while I smoke.

"Office is fine," I tell her. I don't want Emma to have to deal with me until I've had a chance to cool down, anyway. After finishing my cigarette (the last one in the only pack I brought) I slide into the passenger seat, and slump down as far as I can get, letting the hat fall half way down my face. I'm weary down to the soles of my boots. It wasn't so much the interrogation itself as the sheer – unfucking-believable-ness of it.

They really think that, for no real reason that anyone can give me, I would go out and assassinate the Mexican President (albeit indirectly). Forget what I told "The" about Corazon being that too-good piece of pork – I've never gone so far outside the parameters of an assignment that I took out a 'friendly target' _just_ to make a little dough. I'm not that stupid – or that crazy (although I know that's what Collins is trying to insinuate.) I mean, Hell, the whole thing would gone that more smoothly if I _wasn't _trying to take out Corazon. Get El to take out Marquez – take out Barillo myself – take the money – pay my boys – go drink tequila on the beach… and it still wouldn't have worked.

I'd still be here, blind. Disfigured. **_Fucking mutilated_**. Ajedrez. Fuck me. Fuck me but good. I really _didn't_ see it coming. I didn't see_ any_ of it coming. Because Milo was right – for the right person, I'm an easy target. I piss people off. I get caught up in my own schemes and this time – this time I got caught with my pants down.

But I'm not defeated. I'm not down for the count. In fact, I'm right where I wanted to be – _oh bull shit, Sands_. You _never_ wanted to be in the passenger-seat of the head of the Intelligence Policy and Review Office's car. You never wanted to be a rat for the DOJ or anybody else. And it's not the ethics of being a rat that bug me. Ethics in general have never presented real a problem for me – the ones I don't like, I simply ignore. Pretty much that's my take on rules, too. If it doesn't suit my needs, out the window it goes.

But I just never wanted to be _here_. I never wanted to be in DC – or at least on my way back to it. I never wanted to be fucking blind – I never wanted to have my eyes fucking drilled out while I watched

"_Whatever happened down there, you brought it on yourself. You always do," _Paula's accusations still ring painfully in my ears. Like she fucking thinks I don't know it's my fault. _"If you were burned, it was only because you were already a lost cause, Jeff. You've been a lost cause – a liability for years – you're just too blind to see it." _Too blind. Now that's funny. Really fucking funny. Almost as funny as… Christ. _"You** really** didn't see it coming, did you?" _Ajedrez. Fucking perfidious bitch. I can feel myself sinking further and further into melancholy and I make no effort to stop it.

"You sure you're up to –" Eddas. Right. In a car. On my way to fucking D.C.

"I said going to the office was fine," I snap back at her. And take a breath. "I'd – rather give myself a little time before getting back to my daughter." And fuck me, but I never wanted to be this God damned honest either. Although there's another thought, "Say, since you're like my big boss lady and everything, can I get you to look at something for me?" Because maybe sinking into melancholy really _isn't_ the best use of my time.

"Why – what did you do?"

A joke – my Christ – well, yes, literally, it just might be the Second Coming if Marlina Eddas has a sense of humour. I favour her with a half a smile, "I need someone who understands legal crap to have a gander at some paperwork I've recently gotten my grubby little paws on."

"What sort of paperwork?"

"You know, this whole sight impaired thing makes it a real fucking bitch to know for sure," I take a quick breath and tell myself to simmer down. "Emma was dumped off at my sister's house by some attorney – he left some paperwork. I'd like a real lawyer to look at it – because – I just don't trust her mother to have been able to make any kind of competent decisions regarding – well anything." I need a cigarette.

"What exactly are you expecting to find?"

"No clue. But – I'd like to – just make sure – Holly's estate was – together." It is really hard talking about Holly this way – like she's really dead. I mean, I know she's dead – but – I don't know. It just wasn't supposed to happen this way. And next to me, I can almost_ feel_ Eddas bristling. "What?" I don't quite snap at her.

"So – you want to see – what kind of – estate – your ex left your daughter – see what's there?"

"Oh Christ – I want to make sure Holly didn't leave behind a mountain of debt, ok? She couldn't even balance a checkbook – and I don't know if Em – or maybe Milo – happened to mention it, but she had fucking lupus, so if there's bills that need to be paid – I'd just like to know about it up front. I don't like surprises."

There's a brief pause, probably while she digests not only what I said, but the tone I said it in – because yeah, I'm still pretty pissed at Holly for up and dying (I know, like she had a fucking choice in the matter…)

"How long have you been divorced?"

"We were never married." I _really_ need a cigarette.

"You realize that that makes it less likely someone will come looking to you for –"

"I'm thinking of Emma. And the idea was to get my mind _off _this shit from today and onto something _less _likely to make me want to shoot someone. I'm not a gold digger – my daughter has a college fund that I set up the day I found out about her." Emma could probably get a doctorate from any Ivy League school with what's in there already. I told you – it was important to me to make sure my kid was taken care of… I just never expected it to become so – hands on.

"I'm sorry. Of course I'll look over whatever paper work you want me to," is that genuine contrition I hear in her voice…?

"Thank you. So how long we gonna play boss lady and good little toady?"

"I highly doubt you'll ever be anybody's good little toady, Sands."

I just smirk.

And I think she _might _be smiling… "At least until this is over. You'll have to appear before a federal judge at some point – it's_ just_ a formality. I realize you're not big on trusting people –"

"I trusted a woman in Culiacan," I tell her, making no real effort to hide my feelings on the subject. "And I got my eyes screwed out because of it." And I trusted another woman in Culiacan… she turned out to be an angel who saved my life… maybe more… But… it's time to put that in the past… where it belongs… even if it hurts… It's time to move on – figure out the future. Because I know it may not always seem like it, but I do like to plan ahead. "So how about it – how long should I expect to be in your office?" I ask again.

"I really may be able to use your insight on a more – permanent – basis –as long as you don't start threatening to shoot half my staff."

"Does that mean the other half is fair game? We're going to have to figure out some system so I know which is which – because colour coded ties would really be a wasted effort you know. Maybe little beepers on the half I'm allowed to use for target practice?"

She doesn't say anything – but I think she's smiling – I think she's starting to get me. It's not that I _wouldn't_ use anyone in her office for target practice – but just because I have no qualms about doing something doesn't mean I'm really going to go out and do it… I realize the difference between D.C. and Mexico. That's the difference between me and a real psycho-killer. (Guess that makes me a pseudo-psycho-killer?)

I sit back and listen to the road go by… it seems that the further we get from Spy Central the less my head hurts… although I should probably consider taking something for the pain… eventually. Mostly I want a cigarette – and I want a drink. And I should probably want food… eventually...

… Eddas 'shows' me around the office an introduces me (and Spencer) to a few of the people who are going to have to put up with me (seems most of them know my reputation, oh goodie…) But I play nice just because it is always a bad policy to shit where one sleeps, so to speak. I even play nice when Eddas introduces us to my 'assistant,' an eager little beaver named Ryan Moss…

I have Spencer say hello first, then step up to the plate with about as much enthusiasm as I bet you're imagining I've got.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sands," the kid sounds more than a little wet behind the ears… and I have to wonder if her decision to give me a male 'assistant' was biased by anything Milo might have told her…

"Do me a favour – drop the Mister, ok?" I tell him – although I do accept the hand that I'm very sure has been thrust in my direction… yup, right where I thought it would be. At least his grip is a little firmer than I'd anticipated – I match it, but don't do anything to hurt the kid.

"What – should I call you, then, Sir?"

Oh Christ, from bad to worse, "Just – Sands is fine – no titles necessary. Or if you're feeling all warm and cozy like, you_ can_ call me Jeff." Which I think surprises Eddas – what did she think – I ate assistants for breakfast? Or has Milo clued her in on quickly I dislodge partners… of course she wouldn't really need Milo for that. She's apparently seen my file… "Oh – say, Boss-lady – would you mind if I cut out of whatever you have planned for me tomorrow morning? I have an appointment with the Spanish Inquisition."

"Beg pardon?"

"Emma's school. Parent teacher conference."

"Ah. All right. Tomorrow after lunch we'll go over everything that happened today – and go ahead and bring in that paperwork you wanted me to look over. I'll arrange for you to be picked up around – one?"

I nod, and hand her her 'phone' back. "Enjoy the show."

"I'm sure I will."

"One thing you should probably get on right away, though – start crawling up Dan Collins' keester. Hit him hard and fast."

"Collins – I thought your plan was to squeeze on Officer Suarez?"

I favour her with a sly little half smile, "There are times when shit rolls up hill. Milo tells me Collins is laying low, going about his business – and a wee bit nervous since my body has yet to be recovered. Suarez on the other hand is getting comfortable."

"Make Collins more uncomfortable he goes to Suarez – "

"Then start poking around at her, she cuts him lose, burns him the way he burned me. And I can guarantee that he'll have the goods on her." Which could make me obsolete – except that they'd never have gotten to Collins without me… I hope…

"All right," Eddas says after a moment. "Anything else I should know about right now?"

"It's all on there," I nod towards where I heard her put the phone down. "I figure you're going to go over it tonight – if you have any questions, you have my number." Which means I can't get half as drunk as I was planning on…

"I have something for you," she says then.

"Oh? My birthday was a couple of weeks ago but hey –"

She just sighs, "It's that permit to carry a concealed weapon you asked for – as I'm assuming you've been suspended. Just – bear in mind –"

"I'll behave," I promise (in a mildly sarcastic tone). This is actually enough to improve my mood – I mean, it's not like I _care_ about bending a few laws, it just makes my life so much easier when I don't have to wrangle with the Roscoes and Andy Taylors of the world. "I'll even get you those serial numbers I promised." Although letting Emma near my guns to write them down does make me just a wee bit nervous there, folks...

"All right. Well – I suppose we're done for the day, unless you'd like to change your mind about lunch – or dinner I suppose by now – "

I just shake my head. I'm tired of playing nice. I'm sick of being around people. I've done my duty, proven that I can indeed be a good little rat when I need to. And even I've gotten some cheese for my trouble – now it's time to go find out what kind of mischief my darling little muffin has gotten herself into while I was out…

… they say that when you lose one sense – take one's sight, for instance – that the remaining four senses sort of go into overdrive to make up the difference. And so it is that weary to the core, I step into the townhouse Milo's beau is kindly letting me use and become instantly aware that _everything_ is wrong.

My first hint might normally have been the music – because I've had enough time to become acquainted with just about everything my adorable daughter listens to… oh boy have I become acquainted with it.

However, something else serves as my first clue that my life is about to go very seriously awry.

See, while I would, under just about any other circumstance, be pleased as punch to come home to the aroma of a perfectly prepared puerko pibil – I _know_ my Emma cannot cook to save her life. And my mind can only think of one person capable of creating such olfactory perfection... I wonder fleetingly if I'm really just asleep – perhaps I dozed off on the ride here… (although admittedly, my dreams involving Beth are always either a Hell of a lot more torrid than her fixing me dinner _or_ they involve breaking glass and flying bullets.)

But… no… this doesn't feel like a dream. It feels like a set up… not the usual kind, but a set up just the same.

The scent of orange floral musk approaches on feather light feet, accompanied by delicately jingling bells. "Hey there, Cowboy," says a soft, familiar – angelic – voice – in a tone that lends the impression that the speaker is feeling just as uncertain as I am… not that the feeling of being on (almost) equal footing is doing much to make _me_ feel better.

Besides, her voice turns my insides to jello – and I can't possibly feel like I'm on any kind of firm footing when my insides are – well jello. It probably doesn't help that she's standing just close enough that I can feel her warmth – but not so close that she's touching me. I wonder if she has any idea how hard it is for me to just stand where I am, when all I want is to… _in the past, fuckmook… in the** fucking** past…_

"What – what ah are you doing here?" I manage to find my voice after entirely too many heartbeats.

"Milo," her tone remains soft – uncertain. She knows something's wrong, I know she does.

(And oh yeah, I am going fucking wring his neck for this…)

Just the same, I make every effort keep my face carefully guarded, my tone neutral. "And – the feds?" Because I know Milo wouldn't have sent her here just so she could get herself arrested. (I'm _still_ going to kill him. I'm going to string him up by the balls and… and just… I don't know what, but I'm sure I'll be able to come up with something that's nice and creative.)

"He told me not to worry about it – just that I'd have to deal with Neal sooner or later – but that it would probably be later."

She wouldn't _ever_ have had to deal with Neal if Milo had left well enough alone – because _I_ was going to deal with Neal. Hey, I said I wasn't going back, I didn't say I wasn't going to go meet up with that asshole in a nice dark alley some night… I strain to hear any other sounds in the townhouse… you know, the sounds of my child who let a complete stranger in while I was out. I'm going to wring her neck too.

"Emma took Cicily to a movie."

Oh fucking fantastic… I managed to go a whole day without worrying about her (much) and now she's off at a movie again…? With Cicily – so now I can worry about both of them? Now I think I really _am_ going to wring her neck…

"Emma asked me to give you her cell phone number – and to tell you not to worry about her."

"Spiffy."

"Milo called her to tell her I was coming, Sheldon – she didn't let a stranger in."

"Would you please stop that!" I suppose I didn't really mean to snap at her – and hearing Beth take a step back, a soft, startled gasp escaping her throat, I do feel bad, but fuck me I'm not in the mood for this. My head is pounding, I haven't eaten since breakfast (which I only barely picked at anyway), and I need a fucking cigarette. Oh yeah, and we all know just how much I just_ love_ surprises… "When did Emma say she'd be back?"

"She – she didn't. They didn't leave that long ago – so – it'll probably be a while. She promised she'd keep her phone on in case you – needed anything."

_You mean other than to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until it's purple and blue, just like her hair…?_ I_ really_ need a cigarette… but first things first. Actually – first things first, then second things second – before undoing Spencer's harness, I tell him to go 'say hello' to Beth. The importance of introducing him to strangers I didn't want him to be wary of was something Zach stressed – along with the fact that dogs are very good at picking up on their owner's moods – so I suppose I'd better let him know that she's not the source of my ire.

And I listen – after he sniffs her hand, Beth kneels and lets him get a better 'look' – then tells him what a good boy he is. I kinda gotta smile. Even if I don't want to. I've really missed the sound of her voice…

I kneel and undo Spencer's harness while she's petting him – and for three whole seconds there's that feeling again, a man and a woman just going about the routine of their day… damn, I missed that too. It's followed quickly by the sensation of knives twisting in my gut… I give Spence a quick petting and let him go flop down on what has become his favourite chair. Looks like I'm not the only one who's weary to the core. Well, at least one of us gets a rest – but what is it they say, no rest for the wicked?

I am very aware of Beth watching me as I hang up his harness and my hat on the pegs by the door – then I strip out of my suit coat – at least she doesn't seem surprised that I'm armed. I slide the shoulder holster (my harness) off and slip it over the arm of the chair, over my jacket.

And Beth is still watching (very conspicuously silent) as I stalk into the kitchen and find my cigarettes (slamming the cupboard door shut without quite meaning too… I'm fucking dancing on razor blades here…) She's so quite for a second there I wonder if she's even still breathing.

I hate this. And I'm having a hell of a time getting the pack open… I finally break the silence – mostly because it is threatening what little sanity I think I have left: "Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you, ok?" The edge hasn't left my voice – I'm pissed, I can't help it. I'm an asshole – she should just get over it – or if she can't get over it, she should just go back to fucking Culiacan so I can take care of business (mine _and_ hers) and – and then she can just go have a peachy keen life like she's supposed to. Like Holly was supposed to. "I don't do too well with unexpected anything. And you've gotta admit, Sugar Butt, this is pretty _fucking _unexpected." I finally get my cigarettes open. I swear it isn't usually this much of a challenge, even if I can't see a fucking thing any more.

"I'm sorry." And she sounds so – hurt. So – breakable…

I immediately regret all my stalking, huffing and puffing, not to mention the surly tone I've managed to maintain since walking in the door. I take a deep breath and let it out. It's not her fault. I mean – she _should_ have said no, no matter how much he tried to cajole her – but Milo has been on this – this fucking _cupid_ kick since he met her. To be honest, I'm surprised Beth hasn't shown up sooner. (And I'm telling you right now, this doesn't change a God damned thing. I'll play good host – it's only fair, she was a good host to me – and then she's on a plane back to Culiacan – and _then_ I'm going to sneak out from under Eddas' watchful eye just long enough to take care of this Neal guy. Sooner or later – sooner or later! She's never going to have to deal with that fuckmook. Not now. Not ever. Oh yeah, and**_ then_** I'm going to wring Milo's fucking neck!)

Without bothering to ask, I light up two cigarettes and hand one over to Beth.

"Now look who's psychic," there's just a ghost of a smile in her voice.

"No – just psychotic. Which I figure makes nicotine a requirement for being in my company." I finally manage to get the snarl out of my tone.

Beth's soft laugh is truly the sweetest music… even if it's painfully short lived.

I take a long slow drag off my smoke – no amount of nicotine is going to help my nerves right now – but smoking gives me something to do. Something to concentrate on other than the knives twisting and churning around inside my gut. "Something smells grand," I say at last, because I feel like I need to come up with _something_ to fill this void that's developing between us.

"It should be ready soon." Her tone is still – soft. Uncertain. She feels it too, I know she does; I wonder if she hates this void-thing as much as I do.

"So you've been here a while." It's not quite a question…

"We got here around two."

"Ah. So you were right about Emma – about – finding her." I gesture towards the living room – we might as well be comfortable in our discomfort. (And I wonder just what the two of them talked about for three hours… and why does thinking about it make me a wee bit nervous…?)

I listen as Beth moves ahead of me… I should probably tell her just how few people have ever been brave (or stupid) enough to turn their backs to me… but maybe this wouldn't bet he best time for that.

"I'm glad you two found each other."

It sounds more like she's trying to fill the void than actually talk to me…

"She'd just been dumped off at my sister's," I park my ass on the sofa.

Beth joins me – but she leaves a full cushion between us, "Emma said her mother had passed away a few months ago."

"Yeah."

"Are you ok?"

"What – about Holly? I hadn't spoken to her in – years. Why _wouldn't_ I be ok?" So much for keeping that frosty edge out of my voice…

"I just – remember how you talked about her."

"I'm _fine_." Damn. I really don't mean to be like this. I try to warm up my tone a little, "But – you – you _were_ right."

"My gut feelings usually are," she says in a tone that sounds like – like something breaking.

"Your gut tell you anything else lately?" I ask – even though I don't really want to hear the answer…

She doesn't say anything.

I'm going to take that as a yes. I never could put anything past her… but… but I'm not quite ready to deal with that. "Look – Beth – I don't know if Cicily told you what she gave me –"

"I told you she adored you."

"Yeah. And – it's mutual, it really is. But – you know I'm not going to keep it, right?" Even if I wasn't ever going back, I was always planning on getting that book back to them. No matter how much comfort it brings… it's not mine to keep and I know it.

"That's between you and Cicily. Don't even ask me to get in the middle of it," _anger?_ There's an edge of warning, anyway.

"Beth – you're her mother – she's seven. She didn't know what she was giving away."

"Of course she did."

She can't be fucking serious…

"When I gave her that book it became hers to do with as she pleased. If you want to give it back to her – that's up to you. But – don't expect me to quietly take it back and tell her later that you didn't want it."

"Oh for fuck's sake – she's just a kid. She can't make that kind of decision – your mother gave you that book!" I don't believe we're even having this conversation. She should just take the book – and that would just be the end of it… "I know you intended for her to pass it down to _her_ children some day."

"Yes. But – once I gave it to Cicily, it became _her_ book – and _she _chose to give it to you. I can't tell her what to do with her things."

"And you're honestly ok with her just giving it away?"

"I don't have to be ok with it. Only Cicily does. And she is. We did talk about it, Sheldon, after she told me what she'd done. She wants you to have it."

"And you – you're not mad at her?"

"Over a book?"

Ok, let's try logic… "Do you even begin to realize how valuable the book in question really is?"

"There are things in this world more valuable – more important – than money. But – I suppose if someone wanted to sell it – yes, I have an idea what it's monetary value might be. However since I never intended to sell it – it's a moot point."

"It is not a moot point!"

"We can go around all night if you want to – I'm not going to take it back. If you want to give it back to my daughter – it's between the two of you. _Leave me out of it_."

I grab the ashtray off the coffee table and stamp out what's left of my cigarette (which isn't much). Then I hand the ashtray over to her because even if she wasn't the same long angry drags off her smoke as I've been taking from mine, I'm sure hers has to be about spent as well…

"You're not being difficult on purpose are you?" I ask (I honestly don't remember her as being this infuriating). I want another cigarette, but I hold off becauseBeth is already pretty testy with me – over something that shouldn't require nearly this much discussion – I don't feel like having her testy with me over chain smoking, too.

"Not the way I'm pretty sure you mean the question," she tells me. "I just want you to realize that Cicily is her own person. I respect her enough to let make her own decisions."

"She's _seven_. We're talking about something that's been in your family for – what – all those other dates and names – "

"Yes. My mother. Her mother. Her mother. And you're right, it is a very precious thing. My mother gave it to me the year before she died – and we read it every night. But 'losing' the book doesn't strip me of the memory. I'll have that as long as I live."

"But –"

"No. If you want to give it back to her, _you_ have to give it back to her. I will not do your dirty work for you."

Ok, so maybe I was trying to take the coward's way out… but how do I explain to a seven year old that I can't keep something like that? How do I explain to either her or Beth that I was never going to come back… that I was really going to be one more broken promise – one more disappointment… and that I'm only doing it because I don't want to hurt them…

I swallow the cold lump that's forming in my throat (it matches the cold hurting in the pit of my stomach.) "There's – there's something else we need to talk about," I begin after a moment – because – there is no coward's way out of this one. I owe her – something. (I owe her everything… but all I have is nothing.)

"I already know," Beth tells me softly. "But – we're both adults, right? A kiss is just a kiss – we both know it doesn't really mean anything more – and – I can't hold a promise made in – in the kind of mixed up state you were in against you."

And here I didn't think I could hurt any worse… "Things just – got more complicated," I tell her. It's a lie – but – I don't know quite how to make the truth come out. "I – did mean everything I said when I said it." I _really_ don't want to be one more broken promise…

"I know. Plans change. It's ok. It – it happens."

I hate that tone in her voice – I hate it that she doesn't even sound angry with me – that she just – accepts that whatever it was – or wasn't – it just isn't any more. "Look – "

"Sheldon – no," Beth cuts me off before I can shower her with lame excuses. "I – I didn't expect anything out of you."

Oh Christ…

"I'm just happy to see you again. You're really looking good – I'm – I'm glad – _honestly_ glad."

I almost laugh – I'm looking like shit and I know it. But… "That's only because I had a Hell of a doctor – even if she isn't likely to win surgeon of the year."

I hear her laugh – I love her laugh… but it's so short lived… "I should see how dinner's coming," she says, then.

"Can – can I give you a hand?" I ask – because I just want try and enjoy this little bit of time with her.

"You could set the table," she suggests, "Save me from going through every cupboard to find the dishes."

I smile – there's just something humourously ironic about her saying that to the blind guy.

I get the table set while she handles the pibil – we also have rice and steamed vegetables – although in case you never happened to notice, I'm not real big on the food that food eats. Yeah, Holly and I used to have some real lively dinner conversations all right…

But – setting the table – listening to Beth quietly move around the kitchen – I get that 'normal' feeling all over again – and it feels _so** good**_. I know it won't last, it _can't_ last – but – I let myself pretend anyway. And then I hear the sound of two glasses being set down… "Is that what I think it is?" I ask with a mischievous grin.

"Of course."

"You really are an angel," _but not **my** angel_, my brain tells me… I'm not sure if that was my sadistic streak talking – or just some pragmatic little voice telling me that it's time to start moving on…

"Sheldon? You ok?"

I feel her hand on my arm – and I can't fucking breathe. If could actually see, I'm sure I'd be having that sort of tunnel vision thing going… which is a really fucked up feeling when you can't fucking see… "Yeah – yeah, just a headache," I lie. I do have a headache – but that isn't the real problem... _not my angel… not any more…_

"Why didn't you say something? Where do you keep the painkillers?" she starts to pull away.

I place my hand over hers, keeping her there – because I just like the way it feels to have her this close to me. "I'm – I'm ok." I'm shaking.

"Are you sure? Maybe you should lie down –"

"I'll be ok," I lie some more – because I don't want anything to stop us from sitting down at the table and sharing a meal like normal people. I want to maintain the fantasy for just a little while longer, you know, the one where I _do_ actually get to live happily ever after… I just want to pretend she isn't going to leave…

"When was the last time you saw a doctor?" Beth asks me.

"_Saw_, Darlin'?" (I am smiling, despite the acerbic edge in my voice.)

"You _know _what I mean," and I'm very sure she's smiling despite the mild exasperation in hers. I can almost feel the look she's giving me, too. She knows me too darned well…

"It's – just – just been a fuck of a day, that's all," I give her hand a little squeeze… but she doesn't squeeze back…

"I guess I didn't help it much."

"No – I mean – don't – just don't sweat it – you're here – so – you're here."

"Look, if you're worried about us hanging around –" Beth shifts away from me, pulling her hand out from under mine…

It's like something inside is just – tearing. I'm not ready to think about her leaving… not yet. _Just – just give me a little longer…_ "You put my ass up for two weeks – I know there's not much space – but the least I can do is –"

"Cicily and I will find a hotel," her tone leaves little room to argue.

"For – how long?"

"Probably just until tomorrow."

"Beth – you don't have to run off – come on – this is D.C. – you and Cicily should go sight seeing or something – I –" _I really don't want you to leave… _I know I don't get happily ever after… but can't I have a couple of days?

"Look – I can only pretend for so long that this doesn't hurt, ok?"

Her – tone – her words – everything catches me completely off guard (including my own desperate need to have her not go.)

"Excuse me – I'm sorry – " Beth is up and out of the room before I can stop her…

…I listen as she heads for the downstairs bathroom. She turns the water on... and I just sit there not knowing what to do.

………………………………….

Beth nearly trips over me when she finally comes out; I'm sitting on the floor just outside the bathroom door. Waiting. (With a big hairless cat in my lap. What can I say – they both like me. I really cannot sit down around here with one or the other finding it's into my lap. Isn't that just swell…? Not that I give a flying fuck right now. I'm pretty sure it's asleep anyway.)

I'm smoking. I'm drinking. But I'm not drunk. Not yet. Oh yeah, and I turned that God damned cell phone off. If Eddas wants to talk to me – she can just fucking wait until morning. I am off the clock. For the first time in sixteen fucking years, I am off the clock. (Please don't tell me you were labouring under the delusion that any of those vacations I ever took couldn't have been – and weren't from time to time – cut short without notice because my bosses snapped their fingers. Real agents don't retire – and we don't take vacations either. But – not tonight. Tonight I am off the fucking clock and anyone who doesn't like it can just go straight to Hell. I think I even remember where I left that cute little hand basket...)

And, it would seem that when she's upset, Beth babbles – or at least that's what it sounds like to me…

"I should – go – um – just let me – program in the number for Emma's phone into yours – and – maybe get your number so I can call and – and let you know what motel I'm at? When they're done with the movie – would you just ask your daughter to drop Cicily off – I'll pay for the cab –"

"Beth – slow down," I reach up – but she avoids my touch. I just keep reaching – and she keeps avoiding.

"It's no big deal – we're adults – it's just that this adult really needs to get out of here right now – I'm sorry – I don't really mean to dump – to dump getting Cicily to me on you – but –"

But she trusts that I'll do it, I can hear it in her voice. What kind of woman trusts _me_ with her kid's safety… "Please – just – just slow down a minute. I want to talk to you."

"I – have to find a motel –"

"Beth – _please_," I hold my hand out to her.

After a (painfully) long moment, I finally feel her fingers touch mine – I give a gentle tug and coax her onto the floor next to me. (And she's sitting so her legs are touching me… she's wearing one of those flowey skirts of hers, I hear her arrange it under her…)

"I swear – I _never _meant to hurt you."

"I believe that. I really do," she's shaking. "I believe you meant every word you said, when you said it. And – I know – plans change. Life happens. It's ok – but I just – I need to get back home. I have patients who need me – and I to figure out how to iron out this mess with Neal once and for all – because – I can't just – pretend it doesn't exist."

"Don't worry about him."

"Sheldon – don't." (Yeah, she understands exactly what I mean…)

"It won't be because you asked me to. It'll be because I want to. Because I've wanted to for a long time."

"I don't care. I'm asking you not to."

"Why?"

"I didn't ask you to explain your morals or ethics to me. I never asked you to justify anything at all. So – please just return the favour because I – I just don't want to get into some big philosophical debate with you right now."

I put out my cigarette. "All right."

"All right you understand or all right you'll leave Neal alone?"

Damn. "All right. I understand. And – as long as – as long as he never comes looking for me, I won't go looking for him."

"And you won't do anything to make him come looking for you."

I favour her with a half smile – she really does understand me… damn that is scary. "Deal."

"All right," she starts to stand.

I pull her back – although I make every effort to be gentle about it, because I know what she's like… "We're not through."

"What else is there to say?"

"I want something from you. I want you to – to go find someone who makes you happy. I'm not saying I'm so full of myself that I'm afraid you're going to pine away after or anything – I just – I want you to be happy." All the things I should have said to Holly… not because I believe she pined away for me, not the way we left things – I just think that – that I should have said this to her. I should have at least told her how much I wanted her to go have the happy ending I just couldn't give her. "I want you to find someone who – who can give you everything you deserve – and I don't want you to sell yourself short, either." _Go find someone who can** truly** love you…_ because if I can just believe she's going to go be happy… I might be able to be ok.

"Finding him was easy – he sort of fell into my flower bed one day. It was the holding on that I couldn't seem to manage –" her voice catches – but – she manages to recover it, "And it's not like I really blame him for not wanting me. I know – I know I'm that broken little statue on the shelf, the one that everyone is afraid to pick up because of all the sharp little edges – all the cracks and chips. I _know_ I'm hard to handle – difficult to even look at – even for a man who can't see me."

I open my mouth to say I'm sorry – just because I don't know what else to say – but she cuts me off.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for. I'm the idiot who let herself believe – believe that a guy like you could have any interest in someone like me. I knew coming here was a mistake but – but there's knowing and there's _knowing_. And it's ok. I'm just a nurse, right? Just someone who patched you back together."

Oh my Christ… she sounds… just like _me_.

"I – I really should go – "

"You can't."

"Look, unless you're planning on tying me down –"

"Well there's a tempting thought," I favour her with a wicked grin (because yes, there was small smile in her voice, too) – and at least I get a little bit of a laugh for my quick come back. But… "You're more to me than just a nurse who patched me up. Christ, Beth – I'm over here trying to figure out what you could possibly want with a guy like me. I have nothing to give you. You know who I am – _what_ I am. I'd be – just one more in a long line of bad relationships – and – and I'd rather have you hate me for breaking a promise than to ever hurt you." Oh fuck me, but there it is, I said it out loud. (And don't you think for one instant that this gets Milo off the hook. His balls are mine – and not in any way he's going to enjoy.)

Beth is very quiet for a _very_ long while – I listen as she pulls her knees up – I think she's wrapped her arms around them… I pour a shot of tequila into the glass and pass it over to her. She takes it wordlessly – downs it… tequila really isn't a sipping drink. I probably should get her a glass of wine… but her voice stays me before I really have a chance to act on that thought:

"I'm willing to risk getting hurt. Because I do know who you are – what you are. And I've never been afraid of that. But you'd have to be willing to trust me. To let me in. To – not be so afraid of hurting me."

"That's a tall order, there, Darlin'."

"Nothing worth while is ever easy."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning smiles  
like the face  
of a newborn child  
innocent unknowing.

Winter's end  
promises  
of a long lost friend.  
Speaks to me of comfort

but I fear  
I have nothing to give.  
I have so much  
to lose here in this lonely place.  
Tangled up in your embrace  
there's, there's nothing I'd like better than  
to fall.

but I fear  
I have nothing to give.

Wind in time  
rapes the flower  
trembling on the vine  
and nothing yields to shelter  
from above.  
They say temptation will destroy our love.  
The never ending hunger

but I fear  
I have nothing to give  
I have so much  
to lose here in this lonely place  
tangled up in our embrace  
there's nothing I'd like better than  
to fall

but I fear  
I have nothing to give.  
I have so much to lose.  
I have nothing to give.  
We have so much to lose...

- Sarah Mclachlan -


	25. Love is not a Victory March

**Thank you!** Everyone for your reviews! It's really great to see both old and new "faces" – it really just makes my day.

Sands and Beth aren't out of the emotional woods yet… but they're getting there! This chapter was really challenging to write – as you can tell by how long it's taken to get it posted. So here it is – it's short – but more is on it's way after the weekend.

**Chapter Twenty Four:**

_Love is not a Victory March  
_

"I do _trust _you," I tell her softly. If I didn't, I wouldn't be sitting _here_, with my guns slung over the back of a chair in another room. (Ok, so I've got a couple others on me, but….) But – the thought of letting her in is accompanied by the 'memory' breaking glass and flying bullets and even if I tell myself those were just nightmares, I know how easily nightmares can come true. Besides, letting her in would mean having to tell her all the things I've done. Maybe not all at once – but it would all come out eventually – and the only consolation I have is that at least _now_ I can't see the way she'd look at me once she knew what kind of man I really am. (We're not just talking a few casual screws here – we're not even talking some of the sensitive stuff I really couldn't tell her – but, my Christ what would Beth think if she had any idea how much of the shit that went down on the Day of the Dead was because of me? What would she think of me once she realized I could have stopped it – I knew what Barillo and Marquez were planning. And I mean – I _would_ have stopped the general's little army from turning Culiacan into a war zone if I'd gotten a few fucking guns from Collins – slimy bastard – but it wasn't like my reasons were exactly altruistic. I only wanted to stop Marquez's men because frankly, trying to escape quietly into the night necessitates that the night _is_ quiet. I hate dodging bullets on my way outa Dodge.)

I make no apologizes. I have no regrets. There's no going back. And even if I can't say I've done _good_ things – I have done **_necessary_** things. I've kept the balance. But – well you've seen the way I work. Imagine Beth's reaction to the intimate details of my involvement in that shit that went down on the Day of the Dead.

Demons and angels just don't mix... But Christ, I don't want her to leave … I want to make love to every inch of her body. I want to fill all those hurt places inside her with pleasure. I wish I _could_ be the guy who makes her happy… I wish I knew how. I wish she wouldn't hate me, just for being who and what I am – but I know she would. Demons and angels – we just don't mix…

…_Nothing worth while is ever easy… _

I reach over and find Beth's hand – and I am so grateful when she doesn't shy away from me – because I just want a few minutes with her before she goes. I want to hold her, if she'll let me. Nothing more – just – feel her body next to mine.

I slide over so my back is against the wall, drawing her with me (dislodging an irate feline along the way) and I pull Beth in front of me. I wrap my arms around her midsection; she lets me draw her in and holds my arms in hers, hanging on to me. (Hanging on to _me_… that is just so fucking astounding…but then, she doesn't know any better. She has no idea the kind of man I really am – and I just don't think I could tell her…) But just for now I want to feel what it would be like if I _could_ be that guy who makes her happy. It's just a game – just – pretending. Just – fulfilling a little bit of that fantasy that's kept me going since I – since I realized I wanted this.

I allow the warmth of her body against me, that sweet, musky floral-orangey scent and the soft beating of her heart become my whole world. _Just taking what I can get when I can get it… _I assure myself. Just enjoying this one little moment… knowing it can't last but pretending that it might… pretending she's never going back to Mexico… and trying not to pretend too much because I'm not willing to admit to myself just how happy I could be… guys like me don't get happy endings… but wouldn't it be nice if we did? Wouldn't it be nice to be the one who gets the girl?

…_...Nothing worth while is ever easy…… _

And she's so quiet – I wonder what she's thinking – but I'm afraid to ask. So I'll settle for talking instead. "You're not difficult to look at Beth," I lift a hand to her face. She leans into my touch. Her skin is soft and smooth and warm – I feel her smile – my finger tips linger on her lips for far longer than anyone could possibly consider polite, but she doesn't seem to mind. I imagine she's tanned from living in Mexico for so long – I can almost see her, golden skin, honey coloured hair and those green eyes – what I wouldn't give to be able to look into those eyes… "You're absolutely beautiful." An angel.

"I'm no angel," her whisper is only barely audible.

"You were my angel – in the dark – when I was – afraid." When I knew I'd never see again – as that – reality settled in. When I didn't know who I could trust – when I didn't think I could trust anyone – she was there to prove me wrong.

"I didn't do anything special."

"Everything about you is special." _You'll **always** be my angel…_ what was it she said about that book Cicily gave me? Even without the book, she'll always have the memories of sitting and reading it with her mother. Well, I'll always have the memories of my angel, holding me in the dark, chasing the nightmares away. No one can take that away.

"I understand –"

"Shhhh," I cut her off because I just don't want her to finish that sentence – I don't want to hear her say she's leaving. We both know I can't meet her terms – I trust her, but I can't let her in and I sure as Hell will never stop worrying about hurting her… but…. "Just a little longer," I whisper into her ear, resisting the urge to nibble on her earlobe. I draw my knees up around her body holding her completely within my grasp – but my grasp is gentle because I don't want to frighten her either. I just want to feel as much of her against me as I can.

"A little longer?" she asks.

"To pretend that this is real."

I feel her shudder in my arms. "It _is_ real – it's real to me – _you're_ real – real to me." And there is such heartache in her voice – it slices right through me. I'm not sure if she's crying or not but I pull her closer anyway – and she lets me.

"Beth I don't mean it like that – I mean a little longer to pretend that there's no – Mexico – no CIA – no – nothing." To pretend that the only reason I can't see her is because I'm sitting here with my eyes closed, just because I want to – not because I don't _have_ eyes… she's still trembling – still holding onto me. I turn her face towards mine, and brush my lips against her cheek – she leans into my kisses. I just wish I could make that hurt go away as easily as I kiss away the tears. But at least she stops shaking.

"Is – is that how you really live your life – pretending?"

"No. It's just how I get through the – the bad days. I learned a long time ago how to just be somewhere else, when where I am isn't – isn't someplace I want to be."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm right here, holding you." Desperately trying to memorize every little detail so I can call it up later…

"But – you _are_ here – you _are _holding me. If this_ is_ where you want to be – and I can tell you it's where I want to be – "

"Shhhh," I run my fingers through her hair, enjoying the softness of it – I can even smell the remnants of that vanilla floral shampoo of hers… "What I'm pretending is that there's no Mexico. No CIA. Nothing to stop – " remember what I said about being careful not to play the fantasy out too far? Yeah. "Nothing to stop anything. It's just a game – I know it isn't real – but – it's nice, isn't it?"

"So why – why not – make it real?"

"Because –" _because nothing good ever lasts – nothing good is ever** really** real…happiness is a counterfeit emotion… _"It just isn't real, that's all. It can't be. I am who I am – I made my choices a long time ago, Beth – I chose this life."

"Than you can choose another life."

Talk about words that slice right through… and possibilities I don't even know how to think about…

"I do trust you," I tell her. "But – but you deserve someone who can give you – everything – everything you need – everything you want –" _and all I have is nothing…_ "I can't give you anything." _I'm sorry… _

"But what if you're wrong? What if your nothing _is _my everything? What if there really _are_ happy endings? I'm not talking about a white picket fence in the suburbs – and I didn't come here to play house – I only came to hear you tell me you didn't want any part of me – but – you – you do. I don't know why, I'm not much of a catch – but if you want her, the girl is really right here – you get her – if you really_ want _her." Her words are just tumbling out.

"I don't suppose you could stop that for just five minutes," I ask – very gently. Because somewhere along the line, I figured out the real reason she gave me the silent treatment earlier. It wasn't _that_ I snapped at her – it was what I snapped at her _over_. Because she's had at least two men hit her for the way she seems to answer a question that hasn't been asked yet. But – this time she laughs, just a little, through the tears.

"Sorry Cowboy, that's just a part of who _I_ am. I can't help it."

"Than you have to know I'll never not be afraid of hurting you, Beth. And – even if I somehow managed not to hurt you myself," because I would be so careful not to – and despite what you might think, I'm not_ always_ a bull in a china shop when it comes to life, "I'm – I'm up to my neck in some real major shit over here – and when it hits the fan – it's going to make just a fuck of a mess."

"I kinda figured that one out for myself."

"Sweetheart, you have_ no_ idea." And I'm really going to wring Milo's neck – we both know the Company's gotta be shadowing me – why the Hell would he expose her to that…?

"I don't understand the inner workings of the CIA – but – I'm not that naïve, either. You showed up on my doorstep full of lead in the middle of a coup – "

"Beth – they think I tried to assassinate El Presidente Corazon." Which I probably shouldn't have just said…

"Is that what you do?"

Now, I _should_ be taken aback by the question itself (and I am a little, even if I opened myself up to it) – but it's her tone that gets me, because she might as well be asking me if I'm a butcher, baker or candlestick maker, her tone was just that fucking casual. "It's – not my area of expertise. But – it_ is_ something I've done," I admit – another mistake and I know it – but I need to know if it'll make her hate me... maybe I want her to hate me for something 'small' so I don't ever have to cop to the big stuff. (And I wonder what she'd say if I told her that assassination was Milo's field – because I'm sure she just adores him. _Everybody_ just adores him…)

Beth says nothing for a long moment – but I feel her holding onto my arms. Fearlessly. Christ – doesn't she have the good sense to be afraid of me yet? Finally she seems to find her voice: "You are who are you are, Cowboy. I saw your collection of firearms, and cheesy disguises remember?"

"_Cheesy?_"

"Yes." (I'm quite sure she's trying very hard not to laugh at me…)

"A lot of time and thought went into – " but I really am having a hard time finishing that thought – mostly because I just don't want to 'argue' about anything right now. All the same, on a serious note, "Um – anyway – look, the official word is that the CIA doesn't – you know, _sanction_ – assassination, political or otherwise."

"Don't worry, mum's the word," her smile is audible.

"I'm serious." I'm not smiling. Not this time.

"So am I. Who would I tell, anyway?"

"I don't know – but – " but I really shouldn't have said anything at all…

"So what happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Obviously something happened if someone thinks you tried to assassinate Corazon."

"Um. Yeah."

"All right – I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

"Beth – I – just – it's not like – not like I could ever come home and tell you about my day."

I feel more than hear her soft chuckle – and I really have to wonder how she's imagining a conversation like that might go…

_What did you do at work today dear? – Oh nothing much, took out a major drug cartel, foiled a military dictator and gave a country's entire political system one great big enema ensuring a reign of chaos that should last for at least the next few months, and no, I didn't forget to pick up the dry cleaning on my way home – That's nice, we're having dinner at the Peterson's on Friday and Sheldon Jr. has a soccer game tomorrow… _

Christ… no wonder I don't date. "The long and short of it is that I was set up by the people who were supposed to be covering my ass while I was out in the field. I was deliberately given faulty intel just so – so I'd screw up and I got orders that didn't really come from back home – so – some of what the boys back here think I did, I really did do – it's just that I thought I was doing what I was _supposed_ to be doing. I was set up to commit a crime and I don't know why – I don't know what Corazon's death was supposed to accomplish, not yet. But – one thing I do know – I was set up so that I wouldn't walk out of Mexico alive," (Which is another really fucked up saying – I mean, unless we're in some tripped up zombie flick, how the Hell do you walk at all if you're not alive…?) "And the fact that I'm still alive has got to be pissing some people off pretty good about now."

"Am I allowed to ask – anything?"

"The less you know the better. Just believe me when I say that if it weren't for Milo, I'd be wearing an orange jumpsuit by now and I know it. Other than him – I really don't know who I can trust – and – and I still don't really know that I'm going to come out of this a free man – because – it's not as if I'm exactly – a play it by the book kinda guy. My own shit really did catch up with me this time." _If you were burned, it was only because you were already a lost cause, Jeff. You've been a lost cause – a liability for years – you're just too blind to see it…_ just too fucking funny. "See, back at Langley – CIA central – they call guys like me 'cowboys' – because we shoot from the hip – and ask question later."

"Guess I pegged you pretty good, then."

"Yepperooni."

And she giggles at me (which I knew she would – I do love the sound of her laugh.)

"So – can you tell me – what's going on? I mean – I don't know – just – tell me something."

"Well, Darlin', it goes like this: I got my ass shipped down to Mexico after I'd pissed off just about everybody there was to piss off. Truth is that even before all this, I don't think anyone expected me to ever come back – 'cept in a big ol' black bag, if you get my drift." I decide not to tell her about the office betting pool. That part's never bothered me. The only thing that _really_ bothered me about today was when it became crystal fucking they'd already decided I was guilty – even Marcus. Maybe he doesn't think I'd gone over to the other side – but he doesn't think I'm going to walk away from this unscathed… he has no fucking idea how scathed I really am. Although that's probably all over the office by now, too… "But now my bosses at the CIA think I've turned traitor – gone rogue. And that is some pretty heavy shit. We're not just talking breaking a few laws in another country – they really believe I – I signed on with Armando Barillo. And – no matter how many different ways I say that's bull hockey no one seems to want to believe me."

I feel her shifting in my arms – pulling away? But then I realize she's just shifted so she's facing me. "For all it's worth, I believe you. And I know – I know it was Barillo and his pet surgeon who – "

"Yeah," I cut her off, thus saving her the trouble of finding some graceful way to finish that sentence. We both know how that story ended… and I wonder just how much else she knows, how talking I really did when I was out of it for almost a week… I wonder if she knows about Ajedrez… …. and… and I'm not real sure I want to know how much she knows. As it is, I honestly don't know how she can look me in the face and – and not hate me just for being who I am…

The soft warmth of her hand on my cheek startles me a little – but I lean into her touch just because I've wanted to do it every other time she's touched me like this – and because it feels so damned good to be this close to her. Before I quite realize I've done it, I catch her fingers into a kiss as they slide over my lips…her laugh is very quiet, almost like she's afraid for me to hear it.

I take her hand into mine and brush my lips against her knuckles… ok, so I'm doing just a little bit more than just 'brushing' there – but it's not like I'm actively trying to get her into my borrowed bed. I just – I like the way she feels, so as long as she lets me, I'm going to enjoy this. Is that _really _a crime? (And I'm being careful not to take it too far… I don't let my mouth wander off her knuckles, no matter how much I want to kiss her palm – her wrist… yes, I know a thing or two about the art of seduction.)

"So – what's going to happen now?" Beth asks softly after several long (but not at all uncomfortable) moments.

"Officially, I'm suspended from duty pending further investigation. I know what'll happen if the CIA gets its way."

"Somehow I don't see orange as your colour," she pulls twines her fingers into mine.

"I own an orange shirt."

"And I believe I've commented on your fashion sense."

I just shake my head – everybody's a critic… but… "I'm not real keen on the idea of wearing an orange jumpsuit for the rest of my life, no. Even though American prisons are a whole lot nicer than anywhere I've ever been – ah – incarcerated," I almost forgot how little Beth knows about me. She's too darned easy to talk to, too comfortable to be around – I can almost forget everything else... "Let's just say that prison _isn't_ an option."

"Sheldon – please don't tell me you're thinking about doing something – really – stupid."

Really stupid in comparison to _what _I wonder. "Not yet. Although it's been pointed out that what I have done already is pretty stupid – or at the very least anyone who wasn't pissed at me before is bound to be pissed at me now – and I should have left you with the accurate impression that no one around the office exactly misses me when I'm gone – although their aim _is_ improving."

She giggles just at little at my joke… it is really scary that she gets my off-colour humour.

"But – the ah – '_good_ news' as it were," I continue, "Is that equally officially I'm working for the DOJ – and – it's a pretty swell gig, it just gets me labeled as a rat with the Company – the CIA."

"Which is what has them pissed off?"

"Give that girl a prize," I grin at her. Then, "I still feel that ol' noose around my neck – but I think I might_ maybe_ manage to walk away from this without being fitted for that orange jumpsuit – I just won't know for sure until I know for sure."

"So I should start working on that hacksaw cake just in case?"

"That's not funny," although you know I'm trying very hard not to laugh. It really isn't funny… mostly because I can see her doing it.

"Yes it is – but – tell me something seriously – how long do you intend to keep pretending that – that there's no Mexico – no CIA?"

"That illusion is pretty much shattered," I admit, brushing her knuckles against my lips one last time before letting go of her hand… letting go… Christ it _hurts_. I don't _want_ her to go.

"So why not give reality a shot?"

"Beth – I – " I want her to go be happy. I want her to go find someone who can give her everything she deserves and more. I want her to go find a guy who – who can honestly love her. But I just don't want her to fucking_ go_. But I don't know how to ask her to stay… "I will _always_ worry about hurting you, Ange," (that's 'angel' in French, mes amis.) "Both of you. I can't help it – between me – and my life – it would just be too easy for you to _get_ hurt. There are way too many people in this world who want to see my ass dead."

"Then – then just tell me that you won't treat me like I'm so fragile that – that a sneeze could break me."

It feels like the wind has just been sucked right out of me – because it _sounds_ as if – as if she's willing to renegotiate her terms…? Christ… do I really have the guts to crawl blindly out onto that narrow little limb…_nothing worthwhile is ever easy…_ "Beth – "

She brushes a stray bit of hair from my face, "Look – Sheldon – there's only so many ways I can say it. I'm not afraid of you. I – want to – be a part of your life – but I can't play pretend the way you do – even when I'm having a bad day. And right now, I just need you to tell me if – if you're willing to give reality a shot – or not. _Please. _Just tell me what you want – what you _really_ want – because I can't keep trying to figure you out on this one. And – hey – no hard feelings either way, ok?" she adds. "I really am just happy to have seen you – to know you're – you're going to be ok. I just _need_ to know if I'm staying or going."

"I really don't want you to go," fuck me… again… _nothing worthwhile is ever easy…_ "It's just that my life is pretty ugly." But I want her in it… I just don't know how to make that work, but I want her in it… _nothing worthwhile is ever easy… _

"I'm not afraid of ugly."

"Are you sure you shouldn't be?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll – I'll try not to – to treat you like sneeze could break you – I'm just not sure how well that's going to go."

"I guess I'm willing to take my chances."

…_nothing worthwhile is ever easy… _

"Come here," I pull Beth gently towards me, and use both hands to capture her. I draw her in and bring her lips up to mine... Very, very gently I twine my fingers into her hair. I don't want to spook her (knowing what I do of her history) – I just love the feel of a woman's hair in my hands… and given the distinctly positive response I'm getting, I tighten my grip, just a little… hmmmm… yeah… anyway... I know our respective offspring will be returning far too soon to do more than this – but _this_ is the most amazing thing in the world…

---------------------------------------------------------

It doesn't mean much  
it doesn't mean anything at all  
the life I've left behind me  
is a cold room  
I've crossed the last line  
from where I can't return  
where every step I took in faith  
betrayed me  
and led me from my home

And sweet surrender  
is all that I have to give

You take me in  
no questions asked  
you strip away the ugliness  
that surrounds me  
(who are you?)  
are you an angel?  
am I already that gone?  
I only hope  
that I won't disappoint you  
when I'm down here  
on my knees  
(who are you?)  
And sweet surrender  
is all that I have to give

(who are you?)  
sweet surrender  
is all that I have to give

And I don't understand  
by the touch of your hand  
I would be the one to fall

I miss the little things  
I miss everything about you

It doesn't mean much  
it doesn't mean anything at all  
the life I left behind me  
is a cold room

(who are you?)  
And sweet surrender  
is all that I have to give

- Sarah Mclachlan -


	26. Little Details and Minor Complications…

Wow! My gosh, all those reviews! Thank you so much! The thing I love the best about this forum (other than getting to read other people's work ;-) is being able to get feed back on a work "in progress" – it really helps and I so appreciate it.

With that in mind, I'll keep an eye on my hyphens/dashes (I tend to over punctuate, but usually I catch it) – and I did find a couple of missing words in that last chapter, which I've corrected (I may repost that chapter with corrections in punctuation and putting in those missing words.)

I really hope no one's sick of Beth and Sands muddling through, because they're still at it (I guess that's what happens when you get two basically insecure people and put them in a room together…) although I have some stuff already for a future chapter that just didn't seem to fit in here with Paula Basil.

I finally got around to watching Once Upon a Time w/ the director's commentary on (I've been up on a ladder stenciling my living room and ANYTHING to make the time pass, but that I don't have to just sit and stare at is getting put into the DVD player – needless to say, I've watched my favourite 2 or 3 movies six times each this week.) So, I'm trying to imagine Sands being played by George Clooney (for anyone who hasn't listened to Rodriguez's commentary, that's who he originally wanted to play our favourite CIA agent) and it just wouldn't be the same… but it so makes me want to stick George in here somewhere in my imaginary casting… and I have an even greater respect for Rodriguez just because of the feat he pulled in making Mexico.

…………………………………………….

**Chapter Twenty Five:**

_Little Details and Minor Complications… _

I run my fingers through her hair and down her cheek, enjoying the way her kiss lingers on my lips and in my mouth… enjoying the smile I feel forming on her lips and the way she kisses my fingers as they pass over them… I don't know how I'm going to make this work – I don't know how I'm going to not screw this up, but I want this. I want her. I want them both – and I have to wonder if I have the slightest idea what I'm doing… Christ, she deserves the world. But when her lips collide with mine again... very little else matters…

I run my hands over back, just feeling her, the way her sides move when she breathes, the gentle curve of her waist. I just want every detail I can get with what I have left. Her skirt is silk – there's something tied around her waist, a scarf, maybe, with bells and fringe – she must really create some picture when she walks down the street. Her shirt is soft cotton, not quite short sleeves (they go down to her elbows) with small buttons on the cuffs. Her hair just brushes against the collar and she seems to like it when I run my fingers through her hair (and I love the little noises she makes to let me know she likes what I'm doing… although, let us be clear, I have hitherto fore remained a – nearly – perfect gentleman.)

I rest my forehead against hers a moment, just taking in her scent and listening to her breathe. She's got her arms resting on my shoulders – she seems to be just playing with my hair a little, twining it around her fingers. I have no idea why that makes me smile, but it does. "What colour is your blouse?" I ask.

"Red."

Hmmmm… "Did you_ know_ red is my favourite colour?"

"No – but I'll keep that in mind."

I laugh – I really can't help it. "You are something else, you really are." And what I wouldn't give to just be able to _see _her, just once…

It's almost as if in response to my thought – my regret – that I feel her hand on my cheek. Not sympathy. Just comfort.

"What's your favourite colour?" I ask; it's as much out of curiosity as to change the subject. I don't want anything at all to spoil this.

"Green – dark green, like pine green – and rich, earthy brown – like chocolate."

Yeah, that fits. Gently (and still politely, thank you) I begin exploring her body with my hands.

Her collarbone is small, delicate – her neck is long and slender – and I love the sound of her giggle as I brush the back of my hand along that ticklish jaw of hers. Beth doesn't try to stop me as I run my fingers down the centre of her chest (her blouse is open to just the_ right_ spot, exposing just enough, but not at all too much flesh….) However, I follow her breastbone straight down without deviating into territory I shouldn't be in (yet). Her stomach is flat – soft… and now what is _that? _

I slide my hand up under her shirt, no higher (or lower) than that unidentified_ thing_… it doesn't take long to figure it out. Looks like Beth has something in common with my lovely little offspring… "How long have you had this?" I ask of the metal ring that pierces the 'top' of her belly button. It feels pretty well healed – at the very least she isn't acting like it's tender to the touch, although I'm being careful just in case.

"A few years. Post Neal."

My lips twitch upwards just a little – but I'm afraid asking if there are any other 'hidden surprises' might get me slapped… so I let my touch wander, just a little under her shirt, taking care to remain within the purview of what would be considered mostly polite. I honestly just love the warmth of her flesh against my hands. (And I've come a long way from wham bam, thank you ma'am. A woman's body is a thing to savour every inch of.)

"No other piercings, sorry," she tells me – it breaks the fantasy a little – but just the same I'm glad Beth isn't a walking pin cushion.

"You really have the most – gentle hands," she whispers, barely audibly…

And I wonder if she means gentle for the kind of man I am – you, know a cold blooded killer (hey, no delusions right? And my Christ – she has to know enough about me to know who and what I am, she heard my fevered nightmares, she's seen my trunk full of goodies… what does she think she's doing here with me, like this? What do _I_ think I'm doing…?)

"I don't care if you say it in French to make it sound all pretty, I'm still no angel, Sheldon."

"You speak French?"

"Just a little. And don't ask where I learned."

Now if that isn't a challenge…

I feel more than hear Beth's soft laughter – yeah, she knows it too (and I don't think it was an accident, either.) Which is probably why she changes the subject on me, "I used to have my nose pierced, a long time ago, but I had to take it out when I got into med school – something about professionalism."

"What about your ears?" I ask, leaning in to give her left lobe an experimental nibble (no, I'm going to forget about that challenge of hers – but all things come to he who waits – or something like that.)

She giggles a bit at my touch, but offers no resistance, "A couple of holes in each, but it's been a long time since I've worn earrings."

I stop nibbling just long enough to ask her why that is.

"I guess I – got out of the habit of wearing a whole lot of jewelry."

Interesting… "Tattoos?" I ask (then go back to what I was doing with her ears and neck.)

Silence. Ok, that's a yes.

"Where?"

"There's a – grape vine around my navel – it's a lot smaller than it sounds. I've got something around my left ankle – you know, it's really difficult to carry on a conversation when you're doing that –"

"Good. What sort of something around your ankle?" I'm intrigued by her vagueness – and I haven't stopped making it difficult for her to carry with her end of the conversation, either (although my end is going just fine.)

"It's – a knot-work band with – nine stars."

"Significance?" Because I know just enough about ink to know that tattoos usually mean _something_. (That and I'm enjoying how difficult it is for her to talk to me just now…)

"It – was a – a present – for the girls I used to perform with. I got it done just before I took off for Mexico. The – it's from the Nine of Pentacles, in the tarot deck – I know that probably sounds really stupid to you – ok, if you want to talk, you're going to have to stop that."

"No."

"Sheldon –"

"Yes?"

"You're impossible!"

I just laugh, "Yes. And – no I don't believe in all that karma stuff," I tell her honestly, "But that doesn't make it stupid. What's the ah – Nine of Pentacles stand for?" (If you guessed Holly as my source of knowledge on this one, you guessed correctly.)

"Independence – solitude – but – the comfortable kind."

Yeah, that fits my little angel. "I once had someone say I was the walking personification of the Devil," I tell her. No, that wasn't Holly – it was one of her hippy friends. None of them liked me much.

"You're not the Devil. You're the Magician."

"But I don't even believe in that stuff."

"The Magician has nothing to do with magic. He's the man who manipulates everything around him – he is the master of his universe and he knows it."

_I throw shapes. They catch them. I set them up and I watch them fall…_ damn. "Well, I guess it's good to know you don't have any delusions about me." It's also a wee bit unsettling – I mean, I know I keep telling her I'm not a nice guy, but I just thought she didn't believe me…

"So what about you? I didn't see any ink – but are there any holes that weren't there at birth?" Beth asks.

"I got my ears pierced once – both of them. Strictly work related."

"Work related?"

"In the field you do what you have to – because if the other side fingers you as a spy – it can get pretty ugly, pretty quick."

"How in the world do you even begin to train for a job like that?"

"Mostly you listen to other guys – and some women – who've done it for years. You learn a little bit about a lot of things – you learn that everything you every thought was true is really horse shit – and you fly by the seat of your pants a lot."

"And my brother thought I was crazy for living out of the back of a van for two years after I left Neal."

I hear is real sadness in her voice just there. I'm not sure if Beth misses her family, or if she feels as betrayed by them as I think she should feel… even as pissed off as I am at Alison, I know what I'd do if Roscoe hit her. Then another thought occurs, "Guess that makes you something a gypsy, then, doesn't it?"

"You could say that."

Christ on a crutch. My angel is a gypsy…

"We should probably eat," Beth suggests.

"We should," I agree before going back to work on her neck and ears.

"Sheldon – you need to get some food into your system –"

"Man doesn't live by bread alone."

"You really are impossible –"

"I know," I press my lips to hers to silence further arguments. I really just want a few more minutes to savour her sweetness… _my angel. _I do like the sound of that…...

...Eventually, though, I stand and offer Beth my hand, "So – dinner?" I ask as I'm hauling her to her feet; I pull her into me. I know that good things never really last… but damn, I'm enjoying this.

"Everything's got to be stone cold by now –"

"Cold's fine."

"Maybe for _you_," Beth replies with a smile I can hear, as she wriggles away from me grasp.

I listen as she walks over and scoops both our plates up from the table and then meander along behind her, lighting up a cigarette as I go. In the kitchen, I lean back against the counter, just listening to her putter around.

…"_Remember – we wandered onto the public beach – and there was that family sitting around a bonfire?" Milo asked me, just – what, not even a month ago. _

"…_I remember…" (although at the time we were taking this trip down memory lane I was pretty peeved at him for it because he'd just clued me in to just how much shit I was really in.)_

"_You asked if I'd ever wondered what it was like to be normal…" Milo said. I think I probably gave him some curt reply, but the truth is that I do remember his original response, almost verbatim:_

"_Men like us don't have normal lives, Jeff. We wouldn't know what to do with them. We don't know how to work nine to five, punch a clock, be a part of the day to day grind of the rest of the world – we'd end up killing somebody if we tried. We can disarm a bomb – or build one with crap lying around the house – but don't ask** me** to fix a leaky sink or figure out why the toilet is running. You and I can mix and mingle anywhere, pass ourselves off as anyone, but no one ever knows us – and we don't know anyone. We live our whole lives in rented flats that come already furnished and cheap motel rooms. Most of the time we rent the company of other people, even if we're not so overt as to pick up whores – because what is it really when you buy someone a drink in a bar in exchange for a few hours of sexual gratification? Services bought and paid for, that's what – but it isn't like you get to **keep** anything. Just like the beer you drank, the person you take back to your hotel room is just something you rented from the bar and in the end, it all just does down the pisser. What few things we call our own, the things we call personal and important, are all in storage somewhere, collecting dust. By the time we see them again we won't even remember why they were important enough to store in the first place."_

Bet you didn't think Milo could be so philosophical, did you? Or maybe you didn't think we really had so much in common… we're nothing alike, but – but we have a lot in common. Yeah, weird I know. But I'm discovering that life _is_ weird.

And somewhere between that night on the beach and that conversation we had six years ago in a cold damp cell, Milo figured something out, something I think I'm starting to almost believe, too…

…_there is nothing better than knowing I have someone to come home to. It makes all the difference in the world, Jeff. Believe me. It's worth – everything…_

Everything? Is anything worth everything?

"Sheldon?" Beth's voice brings me back to the here and now. (It's funny, though, the way I remember that night on the beach. I remember the bright flames of the bonfire and the way it lit the sand around it, the way the warmth of the light played over the bodies near by. I remember stars – it's so dark out there, you can see the Milky Way in the sky. I remember the ocean, the girls in bikinis and the family that sparked the conversation in the first place. I remember it all in _pictures_. There's sound too, girls laughing, kids being kids – and smell, salt water and burning wood, but _maybe_ I'm just – just filling those details in now, rather than reallyremembering them. I don't know for sure… But_ now_, **all** I have is scent and sound and touch – I have no pictures to go with any recent memories. And that – that's just weird.)

I turn my head in Beth's direction, forcing a little smile but not really saying anything…

"Where were you?"

"Just – thinking about something Milo and I talked about – a long time ago."

"Anything you want to share?"

"It was just – this stupid conversation we had one night after drinking a little too much rum." (A few nights after that very interesting conversation we had after drinking entirely too much rum… poor Sugar Butt, I really don't know why he puts up with my shit.)

"Ah. Men's mysteries."

I can't help but laugh, "I'm not sure I'd call it that, Darlin'," I put out my cigarette.

"Well – come on – everything's warmed back up and I've even poured another couple glasses of tequila – with lime, I might add."

My angel… I follow her into the dining room and we once again resume our seats a the table… "So – is it really safe to assume you're not going back to Mexico tomorrow?" I want to know, because even though Beth said she was staying – I'm having a hard time believing it. I'm having a hard time believing any of this. Nothing good is ever really real… is it?

"I – wish I didn't have to go back at all."

"I could live with that."

Beth stops mid-whatever-it-is-she's doing. "I – really can't afford a motel for more than a few nights," she says – I can hear the hesitation in her voice and wonder what exactly she's hesitant about…

Just the same, I tell her that she can always just stay here – "The company is questionable, but the rent is cheap, the rooms are clean – and there's complimentary pistol under every pillow."

"Sheldon – I really didn't come here to play house."

(I have the sneaking suspicion she's seeing right through my attempt at humour.) "No sweat. I'll take the couch."

"You can't possibly be serious."

"Why not?"

"You just – can't. Besides, it's not like I can just up and – what – come crashing in on you? What would I do here? And this is the middle of the school year – as it is, Cicily is missing class just so I could come here to –to hear you say you weren't interested – that I was just some naïve little nurse who patched you up, thanks and have a nice life. I expected to be back on a plane tomorrow," Beth really does babble when she's nervous – but even knowing that, I really and truly do _not_ like the direction this conversation is headed.

"Plans change," I toss her words back at her.

"No fair."

"Never said I played fair, Ange'," I light up a cigarette – I'm afraid I've lost all interest in the pibil, no matter how grand it smells.

"What about the rest of it?"

"Well – the last time I checked, Washington D.C. does have schools, although I'll admit I can't vouch for their quality – but there's always private schools, which I suspect Cicily has a better shot at getting into than Emma – however I digress." I take long drag off my smoke and feel around for the ashtray – presently, I hear Beth push it towards me. "Gracias," I say in that terrible gringo accent I spent so long perfecting. "Now, I _think_ we've already established that I like having you around and would kinda like to keep on having you around – but if I need to say it again, I will, because it seems to be getting a little easier to say. I_ like_ having you around. Of course, I'm still coming at this with the assumption that when you asked me whether or not I wanted you to stay, you were going to use that information to render an informed decision – was I wrong?"

"No – but – "

"Good. And lastly, as for what you'd do – I don't know, what do you want to do?" Because she could sit around watching soaps all day for all I care.

"You make it sound easier than it is."

"From where I'm sitting, it's as easy as you _not_ getting on a plane – which in case you hadn't noticed is a lot easier than actually getting_ on_ a plane these days."

"Sheldon – could you _please_ be serious about this?"

"I am being completely serious about this."

"You can't be."

"Why not?" I'm loosing my temper is what I'm doing…

"Because it sounds like – like you're _really_ asking me to _stay_."

"Well – most likely that's because I _am_ asking you to stay." Which I could have sworn we covered like half an hour ago…

"_Here?_"

"That would be my preference, yes."

"For how long?"

"For however long you can put up with me." Or until they lock me up in that rubber room…

"Sheldon – I'm _serious_."

"_So am I_." I take a deep breath and force some composure back into my voice, "Sorry. It's just that – that I don't understand why this is suddenly so _difficult_. When you pried it out of me that I wanted you to stay, _here_ was kinda where I had in mind. Now if you've got another plan, I'm all ears – but – " I end with a shrug, stamping out my cigarette with far more force than is really necessary.

"It's not just me we're talking about, you know. It's Cicily – and it's Emma too."

"I realize that." Or at least half of it – I knew we were talking about Cicily too (hello, fucking duh, even I'm not that dense) – but what does Emma have to do with it…? "Come on – what's this really all about?"

Silence.

I fish out my smokes and pass one to her; I flick the proverbial bic (which is my brand of lighter, by the by) for her to light it.

"Thanks."

"So?" I prompt a return to the topic at hand; I get another cigarette out for myself as well, but I don't light it just yet.

"So what happens when you get tired of playing house?" Beth asks very, very softly.

Is it _really_ my luck that she finally starts getting it that I'm not a nice guy about the same time I start to believe she's willing to stick around? "Look, even if you end up hating me in a week, I won't leave you without a way out, ok? Mexico will still be there if – when – you want to go back there. I won't – stand in your way or – or whatever." What the Hell would I really do to stop her? What _could_ I do? It's not like I was able to Holly from leaving me..

There's a long pause from Beth's side of the table. Finally, "That doesn't really answer my question."

"Do you _honestly_ believe that I could – just – what – kick you and Cicily out with no place to go?" _Please don't let her think that I'm that much of prick… _because if she does there is no hope of anything...

"_No_."

And at least it's a 'no' that I can really believe… however…

"But –"

"'But' nothing," I cut her off as my temper flares (it was that 'but' that did it – I really do not remember her as being this infuriating...) "I'm _not_ a nice guy, ok. I know that. I'm – a prick – I'm – "

"Sheldon, please don't –"

"Don't what – acknowledge the truth? I know who I am. I don't know why anyone would want to stick around – but – you said you did so please – you've gotta stop with the mixed signals here, because I don't know what you're thinking. I'm not the psychic, that's your department, I'm the psychotic – although the actual term used in my psych-eval is sociopath – a-moral sociopath to be exact, which I suppose you _should_ know up front. When I say I'm not a nice guy, I really do have the documentation to prove it." And it's a good thing it would be just too damned much work to reach behind me for my gun because my head is throbbing and I really just want to put a bullet between my… sockets… to make it stop. Somehow that thought snaps me out of my rant. "Look, Beth, I know you have no reason to trust that I won't – just get bored and kick you out, but – my Christ, do you _really_ think I could do that to _you_? To Cicily?"

"I said no," she answers me softly.

"Than tell me what the problem is." As if I didn't just hang myself by telling her about my psych-eval… I really am the perfect a-moral killer. It says so on paper…

"The problem is – that I'm scared, too – and not because of what some shirk has to say about you."

"More than one," I caution her – no need to lie about it now…

"I don't care."

"So talk to me – what is it?"

"I _never _expected you to want me to stay. I only came to – to convince myself that – that I really am just this naïve little girl who'd set herself up to get hurt. Again. I _still _believe that I'm just setting myself up because I know you can't really mean want _me_ – _**here**._ Under your feet – getting in your way. I know – there have to be other women – prettier women – someone who's – more your speed. More your type. I mean, even if you _think_ you like having me around – look at me – oh my Gods –" Beth gasps, "_I'm sorry_."

Gods? Well isn't that interesting… not that I'm particularly interested in anything else but the conversation at hand… but at least it gives me something to ponder for just a half a second, which is all the time I need to _not_ snap at her about being unable to look at anything because I don't have eyes, thank you very much... "I know what you meant," my tone is still pretty cold. Then, "No – that's not true, I _don't_ know what you meant. I just know you didn't mean to be cruel."

"Sheldon, I am _so_ sorry – please –"

I feel her very tentatively placing her hand on my arm; I put my hand over hers, "It's _ok_. Just tell me – tell me what you're trying to say."

"Just that you are this incredibly handsome, sexy, sensual, well traveled –_ exciting_ man. Like James Bond – or Tom Cruise in _Mission Impossible_. I'm just this little town girl from Alabama."

And I can hear what it is that she's not saying – that if I could see, I wouldn't have looked at her twice… and I'm not sure she's wrong. I'm also not sure it matters. "You're a Hell of a lot more than some little town girl from Alabama. And there's a lot more to a woman than – than what's on the surface. Around you I feel something I don't feel anywhere else – _with_ anyone else." (Not that I really believe anyone else would have me.)

"What's that?" Beth doesn't sound like she believes me.

"This isn't going to make a whole lot of sense to you," I tell her. "But I feel – normal. Like – just any other guy. And believe it or not, that's a really good feeling." Although I sure as Hell she knows what to do with a leaky faucet, because Milo's right, I'd have a better shot at disarming a nuclear device than I would at fixing a broken toilet… "Maybe before the Day of the Dead I – was happy with my life, I don't honestly know. No apologizes, no regrets. But – I got burned by people I trusted to _at least_ not fucking set me up for life in prison. There really isn't any honour amongst spies – but there _are_ still lines." I'm not a nice guy, but I've never done to another officer what Collins did to me, not even close. "I guess it really just comes down to whether or not you want to get on that plane and go back to Mexico – or if you want to stay here. Right here."

"I never wanted to go back – I just didn't think I should even bother hoping for the best. I figured at best you wouldn't be angry at me for showing up like this."

"I'm sorry about the chilly reception. I really did just have a fuck of a day and I'm not good with surprises."

"Let me get you something for your head – sorry – I –"

I wave aside her apology, "It doesn't bother me so much as just freak me out a little, that's all," I tell her honestly (my head truly does feel as if it's about to implode.)

"Is that something you _honestly_ think you could live with? Because it really is a part of who I am."

"I know that. I like having you around. Both of you."

Beth doesn't respond – not usually a good sign, but at the moment, the pounding inside my skull is taking up most of my focus.

I listen to her go up the stairs – a few minutes later she's back, walking past me – into the kitchen – water running into a glass… and finally she's back, pressing a couple of pills into my hand (I wonder if I should be worried that she's standing right behind me…)

"Drink the whole glass," Beth says; it sounds like a pretty hefty glass she's setting down on the table...

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And don't get cute."

I just grin up at her – and oh my Christ, Beth starts to work on my shoulders… or at least I think they used to be shoulders… "You – really – don't have to – " it's really hard to talk.

"Shhh. You need this and I need to feel useful. Do me one favour?"

"Right now – you can have anything you want." Hell, I'd offer my first born – but she's met my darling little muffin…

"I – I want to _not_ tell Cicily we're talking about – what are we talking about Sheldon? What are we _really_ talking about?"

"You staying. For as long as you want."

"Is it really that simple?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's never been that simple before."

"Guess I'm just an uncomplicated sorta guy."

And that gets her good – I've only heard Beth laugh this hard once, when I asked her if I could get some tequila if I promised to eat – brussle sprouts, I think it was. "Do I take it the lady disagrees with my assessment of myself?"

"Oh the lady disagrees plenty, Cowboy. But – I know you're right about one thing – there isn't anywhere else for me_ to_ stay – which I guess just makes this one of my less well thought out plans."

"Tell me something honestly – do you _have_ well thought out plans?"

Beth just chuckles some more, "Not really."

Which is just exactly what I thought she'd say…

"I'd like to – hold off on telling Cicily about us – staying – at least for a little while."

And I can tell she's waiting for some kind of negative response – but I understand. Neither of us really knows what we're doing here and while I may truly be a prick, even I realize how easily a seven year old could get hurt. "No a problem," I tell her softly.

"Thank you."

"De nada."

Beth laughs, just a little… and it is truly a sweet, sweet sound.

While she works on me, we both pick at my plate, which is just like old times for me… by the time the pibil is gone, I think I might almost be relaxed (and oh yeah, Beth made me eat my vegetables…) The headache is even almost gone.

"That was truly amazing," I tell her quietly, as she shifts around, picking up both of our plates to carry them into the kitchen.

"You're very welcome."

I snag up the glasses and follow. I listen to Beth put the plates down on the counter – and slide up behind her, setting the glasses down in front of her (basically pinning her in her place between me and the counter). I warp both arms around her waist; she doesn't seem to mind. "Just tell me one more time you're really staying," I say into her ear, because I'm pretty sure she hasn't actually said the words and I really need to hear them. (I'm really not used to a whole lot of security in my life, especially not lately.)

"I'm_ really_ staying, Cowboy."

"Here."

"Here."

I lean in and kiss at the back of her neck (and get quite a nice response, going to have to file _that_ one away for later….)

However, just about then, I hear Spencer hopping out of his chair in the other room followed by the distinct sound of a key in the front door…


	27. More Details and Complications…

I just want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Sorry this one was SO LONG in coming! No matter what I did, it just would not be nailed down – but at last, here it is (with another right behind it!)

**Chapter Twenty Six:**

_More Details and Complications…_

"It's us," Emma announces before they're even through the door – guess my little muffin's picking up on just how paranoid I can be…

Cicily however has not. I barely have time to pull back from Beth before she comes barreling into the room (and into me) – "Senor Sands!"

Finding a pair of small arms being flung around my waist there really is no other option but to return the hug – and my Christ I really _have_ missed this kid. (But – I think we're going to have to do something about this Senor thing… without breaking my word to Beth. When did life get so fucking complicated?)

(I'm also carefully listening for Spencer's reaction to someone he obviously doesn't know running at me – but it seems that Emma has him well in hand, telling him to sit and settle down.)

"Are you all better yet?" Cicily asks me stepping back just a little (but not quite letting go.)

I kneel so I'm closer to her level, "Mostly."

"I'm glad," and in a completely unexpected move (well, I don't expect it anyway), Cicily wraps her arms around my neck, "I missed you," she says softly, right into my ear.

And all I can really do is hold her close and tell her that I missed her too – she's just a kid, but I swear I can't quite breathe… When did this happen? When did I become so attached…? I don't even_ like_ kids, remember?

It's only belatedly that I wonder what Emma must be thinking, because let's face it, my initial reaction to her was – hmmmm, I think 'chilly indifference' just about sums it up, don't you?

And yet here I am, holding onto someone else's kid… but… I've missed them both… there it is, ok? I admit it. I'm glad they're here and I don't want them to leave… which _doesn't_ mean I'm not going to wring Milo's fucking neck for this. It also doesn't mean that I don't honestly believe Beth and Cicily wouldn't be better off, and a whole lot _safer,_ without me around. I'm a fucking menace, and I know it. But I guess I always was a selfish little prick, because right now I have within my grasp something I didn't think was ever going to be possible, and I'm not about to let go.

See, maybe I never did want the white picket fence in the suburbs, but there was a time when I wanted 'it all' – not that I really knew what the fuck _that_ was – but who does, right? Look at Milo's beau, he thought he could have that illusive 'all' if he just married the right girl and had a kid. Look how swell that turned out. It's not all that different for me with Holly, because despite all our differences I would have given almost anything to have 'it all' with her... I just wouldn't give up the one thing she asked me to give up (like I said, I'm a selfish little prick. But she could have asked me to give up_ anything_ else – to give her anything at all – and I would have. It would have been a mistake, but I would have done it. Sometimes I wonder if she didn't know that… if she didn't ask me to give up the one thing she knew I wouldn't give up, just so she'd have the excuse she needed to leave me….)

And the day Holly walked out was the day I stopped believing in happy endings, the day I gave up on the fantasy of having anything at all to hold onto. It was the day I woke up. The day I decided that if I didn't get the prize, if there was no cookie, no golden carrot, than there was no reason to live my life as if there was… not that I'd exactly been a choir boy before that, but the day she left it became a conscious decision to just – just do the sorts of things you've watched me doing. No regrets. No apologizes. No going back….

Hell, I'm still half expecting to wake up in the back of the car Eddas sent me home in, having dozed off on the ride back here, because it's a whole lot easier to believe I'm dreaming than to believe Beth is really here and really wants to stay… men like me don't get the girl. Girls like her don't fall for guys like me… but… here she is. And I don't know why – I just know that I like it and I have to figure out some way to make it work out. (And just think, a week ago, I was complaining about being bored…)

"Em – go a head and let Spencer loose," I say in the direction I'm pretty sure Emma's standing with him.

She doesn't reply – but I hear him padding over and put my hand out. Obediently Spencer comes right to me and sits. I give him a little bit of a petting – positive reinforcement and all that.

"Is that _your_ dog?" Cicily wants to know.

"He is," I nod, and tell Spencer to go ahead and say hello to Cicily – she giggles with what I'm pretty sure is a wet dog nose in her face. "His name's Spencer," I tell her. "Senor Givens got him for me."

Cicily is just laughing – it's really a very sweet sound. And I wonder if, when Milo went dog shopping, he didn't have in mind that there might be a small child around… Christ, what an order to fill, trained seeing-eye dog, trainable as a guard/attack dog, must put up with chain smoking fuckmook and like little girls (just not for breakfast)…

"You have to remember, Spencer is like Donna's dog, Keating," Beth says in that voice that I quite firmly believe is possessed _only_ by mothers, "So you have to remember, when he's in his harness, he's working and you can't pet or play with him."

"I can remember," Cicily assures her mother – and it looks like I was right, Beth has had some experience with the blind... I make a mental note to ask her about it later, just to more fully satisfy my curiosity.

"We brought you guys back some desert," Emma says, then – and yeah, I really wonder what she's thinking – her tone is very soft, kind of like it was that very first conversation... I wish I knew what to make of that.

Beth's tone is almost an echo of Emma's when she says thank you; I imagine the two of them exchanging some sort of look – maybe Beth feels the need to apologize to my daughter for the warmth I'm showing her daughter…? I just don't know.

I haven't felt this fucking blind since – since it really hit me that I would _never_ see again. I have absolutely no fricking clue what's going on around me. I mean, sure, I have sounds, but sounds don't help when I need to read body language. I have smells, but smells don't help when I need to look someone in the eye. If I could see, I could probably figure it out… but I can't see. I'll never see again. Even if that isn't exactly news to you or me or anybody else, fuck it all anyway, because this is really starting to get on my fucking nerves (and it just doesn't help that I've had a _really_ bad day that started oh, I don't know, more over twelve hours ago…. Ok, ok, so a few really _good_ things have happened, too, but – but I realize how fucking tenuous this situation really is. Beth and Emma are dancing on razor blades with each other and let's face it, gang, domestic affairs aren't exactly my strong suit, here. I don't build bridges, I blow them up.)

"Why don't Cicily and I put on a pot of coffee," Beth suggests in what sounds like a forcedly cheerful tone. "And maybe get this desert you guys brought home onto plates, because I for one hate eating out of styrophome."

"And because somebody else is on dish duty?" I grin up at her (just trying to roll with it, pretend that nothing is off kilter here, even though I feel as if _everything_ is.)

"That too," Beth says – at least her tone sounds a little more 'real' there…

And… unable to come up with any more graceful an exit, I simply take myself into the living room, snagging my smokes as I go. Behind me, I hear Emma asking if she can give a hand in the kitchen and Beth assuring her that they've got it and I wonder what any of them are thinking.

I park my ass on the sofa, light up a cigarette and listen. Presently, I hear Emma's footsteps – it doesn't sound like she's even going to slow down as she passes me. I don't think I like that. "Em – "

She stops – but doesn't say anything.

"We ah – we need to chat about just a few things," I tell her.

And I hear an awful lot of nothing coming from her, for quite a few seconds. Then, finally, Emma takes a couple of steps in my direction – but she doesn't sit down. "So how pissed are you?"

Good question – I haven't really put a whole lot of thought into how pissed I am her just now (I really am sort of a moment-to-moment guy – just the big stuff gets held over, like ringing Milo's neck – or a more serious note, what I'll do to Collins if I get half a fucking chance.) I take a drag off my smoke while I contemplate how to answer Emma. "I know _you_ know I trust Milo – and Beth told me he called to tell you she was coming. So really I'm must a little bit pissed."

"I wouldn't have let her if he hadn't called."

"I know that." And I really do believe her – Emma's just too smart to let someone in, especially when I'm not around. "Just promise me you won't _ever_ let do it again, not unless you have it from **me** that whoever it is, is ok, no matter who it is or what kind of ID they show you." Because sooner or later Paula Basil's going to make her way to my doorstep… and with my luck, I'm betting it'll be sooner rather than later.

"Ok."

"Good. Now, what kind of desert did you guys bring back?" I force a smile. There's something still unsettled, here – I just don't know what it is.

"Cicily picked out something for her mother – I picked yours."

"And –?" I prompt.

"It's called – killer chocolate cake."

I can't help but smile.

"So – if I'm off the hook, I'm going to go upstairs and – just disappear for the rest of the night. I'll keep the music down, don't worry." Emma just says...

I don't like her tone. I don't like any of this... but like I said, domestic affairs are just not my strong suit. "You really don't have to vanish - "

"I'm sure you don't really want me around."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"What's going on?"

"_Nothing_."

"Em – are you not ok with having Beth and Cicily here?" Because of course, that's my best guess.

"It's not my call, it's yours. Besides, it's not like you and Mom were ever even married, right? Why should I care if you have a girlfriend – or – what you do with her."

I think Bill was onto something when he wrote about the lady who protested too much… but one thing at a time. "I – don't know if I'd use the word 'girlfriend' – " although truthfully, I'm not sure what word I _would_ use.

"Whatever."

"Look, we're just trying to keep it low key for now. I'll be on the sofa. I'm not real sure when that's going to change."

"Whatever."

(I swear, I feel like I'm talking to a brick wall.)

"Em –"

"_Whatever._ You don't have to explain _anything_ to me," she insists. "It _doesn't_ matter what you do – or with who. I don't care – why _should_ I care – it's not like it would make any difference anyway." She's only barely keeping her voice down… but I give her credit, she's trying to keep this just between us.

"I didn't expect this, you know," I tell her.

"I figured."

"It doesn't change anything."

"Sure it does. But that's ok. I'm a big girl, remember. I'll stay out of your way – out of her way. You can just pretend I'm not even here at all."

"Emma – "

"Whatever – it's all good."

No, no I really don't think it's all good at all…

I hear a soft footstep at the entrance of the room and catch the scent of Beth's perfume… and yes, I do believe there are smaller footsteps following just behind and the soft clanking of silver on plates. I put out what little is left of my cigarette.

"I went ahead and poured you a cup, too," Beth says in Emma's direction, stepping into the room after a moment's hesitation at the doorway.

(_My fifteen year old drinks coffee_…?)

"I was – just heading up to my room," Emma tells her.

"Well – anyway –"

"Thanks," it sounds like Emma's taken the cup from Beth. At least her tone isn't quite as cold as it was when she was talking to me. Yeah, I really do give her credit for that – because it seems as if it's _me_ she's pissed at, not Beth (so at least she knows how to properly assign blame…) But I'm still surprised when Em invites Cicily up to her room to play computer games, assuring Beth that it's a 'totally kid friendly' game, something based on a movie about juvenile spies that I've never heard of…

"Please?" Cicily says in Beth's direction in that sort of pleading tone that I've only heard out of her a couple of times.

(And I reflect briefly on what my sister said about Emma and her kids. Somehow I'm just not buying that my daughter can't be trusted. If nothing else, I trust Beth's judgment over Alison's any day of the week.)

With a bit of a sigh (that I'm pretty sure is more token resistance than anything else), Beth relents…

And again we are alone (except for Spencer who's crashed back out into his favourite chair.)

I shift a little so I'm 'facing' Beth. "So."

"So."

Right. "What's the deal between you and Em?" Because if Emma won't give a straight answer, maybe Beth will.

Beth settles back into the sofa, getting comfortable – but she slides in my direction, which is certainly quite welcome – it's even more welcome when I find her head resting on my shoulder. "Honest answer is that I don't know for sure," she tells me. "But I can take a guess."

"Please do."

Beth pauses for a moment, probably to collect her thoughts. "Emma said you went to your sister's for Thanksgiving with no idea she was even there – although she did a good job of dancing around certain details because she wasn't sure what all I knew about you."

I smile – that's my kid… feeling Beth's hand on my knee, I lay my hand over hers and smile a whole lot more when she twines her fingers into mine… "Did you tell her?"

"What, that I know you were with the CIA? Yeah – after I was sure she knew it too."

"No gut feelings to guide you?"

"I told you – they're not always one hundred percent."

"Ah. Right. So – ?"

"So – you appeared at your sister's house without warning and basically swept Emma off her feet."

Ok, colour me stunned, "I what?"

"Sheldon, she's been waiting her whole life to meet you – and let me tell you, you really can be larger than life."

"I can?" I seriously think I need another cigarette.

Beth keeps from getting it though – so now she's holding both hands (which isn't necessarily a bad thing…) "Enough with the chain smoking, Cowboy. It's not good for you."

"So the Surgeon General says," I grumble at her.

"I'm serious."

I think I put a bullet in the last person who suggested I cut back on the nicotine. However, I am capable of showing restraint… really I am… "So how about you just explain this larger than life thing – because I just don't see it –" hmmm. Yeah. Anyway. "You know what I mean," I say before she has a chance at any snappy comebacks.

"You're very – big."

Oh, talk about your opportunities for snappy comebacks… but I'm determined to restrain myself, just this once. "Big?"

"Big. Especially to Emma – and especially right now. She had everything she's ever known – everything she's ever considered safe and secure –ripped out from under her when her mother died. Then she was unceremoniously dumped on people who didn't wanted her. She didn't necessarily say anything – but – it was more than just my gut telling me that she was pretty miserable there. And then – you came along. And you took her away from all that. You gave her a home. You gave her happily ever after. And she's afraid of losing that – of losing _you_."

Oh my Christ (and fuck me while you're at it, because even if I'd never have thought of it in quite those terms, I can see where someone else might see it just that way…) "I'm no Prince Charming, Ange."

"You have your moments," Beth's smile is audible; she pulls her hand away from mine, just long enough to run it along my cheek and jaw, giving me a nice opportunity to plant a kiss on her palm… then she continues: "Right now you represent every hope Emma's ever had and everything was really going to be all right. Until Cicily and I showed up."

"What – why?"

"Think about it. She's basically been the centre of your world for the last four days – "

"Four days in which I seriously would've shot her if she wasn't mine."

Beth just laughs, "I'm not saying it's been four perfect days – but – it's been four _important_ days. Believe it or not, parenting isn't about getting it right all the time – it's about _being there_."

"But I haven't been there. I – I skipped out on checking the P.O. box I set so Holly could get a hold of me – I haven't seen a single piece of mail she's sent me in the last three years – I never will," I add – and even Beth's warmth next to me isn't enough to make feel better about _that_. I have no excuse except my laziness… next week, next month, next year… and now? Now it'll never matter. "Holly wanted me to come back – Emma helped her write the letter – " And sometimes you just know after you've said something that you really shouldn't have said it… because I feel a sudden, distant, chill from Beth. It's not quite cold – but – it feels is if she's drawing into herself. More importantly, it feels as if she's drawing away from me.

"I'm sure Emma knows you care about her, Sheldon. I'm sure Holly knew it too."

I _don't_ like her tone – it's just too fucking – quiet. Kind of like the way she was when she just gave up.

"Beth –"

"What matters now is you and Emma."

"No."

"_Yes_."

"Lots of things matter. Emma _is_ one of them. But she's not the only one."

"She's your daughter."

"I know that." Oh boy do I know that…. "But you're important too. You and Cicily both." Because I'm not going to lose them now… not after this afternoon. Not after finally convincing myself that maybe – just _maybe_ – I have a shot at something other than a shallow grave…

"Sheldon, listen to me. I know what it feels like to lose one parent and to be desperately afraid you're going to lose the other one too. I know you don't think much of my father, but he was all I had after my Mom died. I knew – I knew what he expected from me wasn't fair but I would have done anything in the world to please him. If someone had suddenly shown up to – to take Mom's place – to take _my_ place – I would have been lost."

"I get that." There's a bald-faced lie if ever I told one. My father split and I never thought about losing my mother. The only reason I didn't like the men Mom dated is that they were all wrong for her. When she died, I skipped the funeral – but ok, that's me. And frankly, I'm sure that this _isn't_ what really has Beth tap dancing on razor blades, so truthfully I don't care. We can always come back to the subject of parental loss later if it's really that important (because _my_ gut is saying 'diversionary tactic', and my gut is usually right, too – _so there_.) "Beth – I've had a fuck of a day. I know there's something more on your mind, I can hear it in your voice. So – if you could maybe just tell me what is –?"

There's a long silence on her end… but I can feel her grip on my hands tightening (a good sign, I hope) and I squeeze right back.

"What I said about losing a parent _is_ true. But – you're right. It's not what has me – pulling away. That's just – it's a self defense mechanism, ok? I don't really mean it."

There's enough hurt in her voice that I'm convinced she's telling me the truth, even if I can't look her in the eye. (Not that I'd know _anything_ at all about building walls… yes, that is indeed sarcasm there kiddies.) "Ok. As long as you tell me _why_."

"I_ really_ need you to understand that – that I don't want to be some kind of replacement for Holly. I can't be. Not for Emma. And _not _for you – especially not for you."

Ok, _that_ came out of left field… apparently it shows on my face just how stunned I really am (not that I'm makingany kind of attempt to hide anythingjust now.)

"It's – something that – it's been on my mind for a long time." Beth tells me (and believe me, the explanation isn't really helping me 'get it'). "I really – still – feel like there's – _someone_. It's like – there's someone – hanging over your shoulder – " I can feel her shrug. "I can't explain it any better than that."

Ok. Right. "Holly died three months ago. We hadn't spoken in years. Even if she wanted me to come home – it wasn't like that. She pretty much hated me."

"I doubt she hated you, Sheldon."

"Maybe hate's a strong word," I concede. I'm not real sure Holly hated anyone, even me (even if I think she should have). "But we were together less than six months and – look, maybe loved her, maybe I didn't, I just don't know any more. What I do know is that when it was over it was _over_. She walked out on me – I went into the CIA. In fact, she walked out on me _because_ I went into the CIA. She told me she couldn't live with a man whose whole life was built around lies and secrets and government conspiracies." And it occurs to me – again – that I have no fucking idea how Beth could live with a man like that either… but she knows. I know she knows. She has to know. I only hope she _understands_… "I didn't even think about Holly again until the day she called to tell me I was a father."

"Look – it's only a guess, but – I really believe Emma's afraid I'm going replace her mother, that Holly's memory will somehow become – unimportant to you because I'm here. That _she'll_ be less important to you because you have – other people who care about you."

I think my head is starting to hurt again. "But Holly and I were never together during Emma's life – there's just nothing to replace."

"Do you really think that matters to a fifteen year old?"

And thinking about what Emma said ..._it's not like you and Mom were ever even married…Why should I care if you have a girlfriend – or – what you do with her…_ "Maybe not."

Beth squeezes my hands a little tighter, "I can accept it out of Emma to be afraid of me replacing her mother because she's fifteen and she's had her whole world turned upside down and inside out. I just couldn't ever accept it out of _you_ to expect me to be something – or someone – that I'm not. I can't be her. I can't be some kind of – substitute for her. And I'm afraid you're going to – going to do _exactly_ what Emma's afraid of you doing. I'm afraid that Holly is still so much a part of you that – that there might not be any room for me, even if you want there to be."

…_for someone who was a part of your life so long ago she still seems to mean an awful lot to you... _and when Beth said that she had that sad, thoughtful tone in her voice, the one that makes her sound like she's a million miles away even when she's right next to me… "Beth, I have _never_ carried any kind of torch for Holly. She's – she was – the mother of my child. Period. Maybe she didn't hate me but I couldn't give her the kind of happy ending she wanted out of life – and she didn't want any part of the life I thought _I_ wanted. That's why she left me. She gave me an ultimatum and when I didn't choose the way she wanted me to – it was over."

"It hurt –"

"Yes." I cut her off – I really don't want to go into just how _much_ it hurt. "I know I told you remind me a wee bit of her sometimes, with your Karma and providence and – hocus-pocus shit, but – she walked out on me. She didn't want any part me." (And yes, I feel _way_ too fricking exposed…) "I really don't expect you to stick around either," I conclude, because what the Hell, I've gone this far right? Might as well just lay it out on the line and see what she does with it. What's the worst that can happen? (Ok, so I don't really want to think about that either… but if she's going to go, I'd rather she leaves me before I'm any more attached to her than I already am.)

"I guess I'm being unfair – I'm sorry. I just can't seem to shake the feeling that there's someone – and – I'm letting it have too much sway over me. I'm not always right – especially not when I'm so – wrapped up in something. Maybe I'm just looking for – for reasons for you to change your mind about wanting me around."

"_Never_." My tone surprises even me – because I'm not used to being anywhere near this honest, _especially_ not when I'm feeling so God damned vulnerable. But she really hasn't hurt me yet… my Christ, she _really_ hasn't hurt me. Not when she had me completely vulnerable and could have sold me out to any number of people for quite a bit of dough (dough I'm sure she could use, too)… and not when I laid out how I really felt about wanting to come back… not even when I didn't come back, because even if she didn't know it, there was a lot she could have said that would have hurt. My Christ… "Believe me, Beth, there is _no one_ in this world who would put up with me – so you really don't have to worry about any kind of competition for my sorry assed self."

"You might really be surprised."

"Mais, _vous êtes_ mon ange. Je n'ai jamais dit cela à n'importe qui. Savvy?"

"Will you ever believe that I'm no angel?"

"Vous m'avez tenu quand j'avais peur dans l'obscurité – et vous m'avez fait la confiance vous quand je n'ai pas," I have to pause and think a second – it's been a few years since I've hacked my way through the French language there, mes amis. "Pensé que je – je pourrais jamais faire confiance à n'importe qui encore."

"I don't care how pretty you make it sound," Beth tells me, "It's still not true."

But I can hear that the smile has really returned to her voice – and that's _all_ I care about.

"It's true to me. Vous serez _toujours_ mon ange."

(Huh? Oh, right, translation for the peanut gallery. I told her that _she's_ my angel and that I've never called anyone else that. Then I reminded her that she's the one who held me in the dark and convinced me that it was safe to trust her, even when I didn't think I'd ever trust anyone again. And then… yeah, use your imaginations…)

……….

"Do you think I should give talking to Emma another try?" I ask Beth, our mouths finally parting. (and Christ,do I love the way this woman kisses me…)

"I think she took Cicily up with her so you couldn't. And – maybe because she's trying to – ingratiate herself with you – or me."

I just nod – that makes sense. It doesn't help me decide what to do – but it makes sense.

"Time is the only thing that's going to fix this, Sheldon," Beth says, reclining into me. "You are literally all she has and she knows it. Just keep on doing exactly what you have been doing – and – make sure Emma knows that everything_ else_ is going to be ok too."

"Everything else?"

"You know, you, Mexico, the CIA. She's fifteen. She's scared."

"Right. Sometimes I forget that some of the stuff I take as just a part of my day other people might freak out about."

"I've noticed that tendency. Don't worry about me," she adds. "I don't freak out that easily."

"I've noticed that," I pull her a little closer, just to feel her warmth. Just to convince myself that there really _are_ happy endings… that guys like me can get the girl.

"I'll do what I can too – with Emma. I think – the more she sees me _not_ trying to replace her mother the more she'll be ok with – with whatever it is we're really doing here."

"We're just taking it a day at a time," I brush my hand across her cheek; she catches it in hers and lays soft kisses along my fingertips, making me smile.

"I need time too," Bethadmits to mequietly after a few pleasantmoments. "I'm not used to someone who – just kind of accepts me the way I am. I keep waiting for some other shoe to drop."

"No shoes here, Darlin'. Assuming you really do believe me when I say I'm not a nice guy."

"I know that if I told you 'ok', Neal would be dead within the month."

"No. He'd be dead within the week – probably in just a couple of days depending on my mood at the time you gave me the go ahead to take him out."

"I was being generous with the time because I have no idea how much time something like that takes to set up – and I don't need to know. All I need to know is how serious you really are. I have no doubts." She traces the lines of my palm, "I _knew_ before I knew who you were and I'm right often enough to believe what I see here."

"And you can really live with that? With me, knowing just exactly what kind of man I really am?" Because she's not the only one around here waiting for falling footwear.

"I like having you around," Beth gives my own words back to me, which is justcompletely unfair………


	28. To Say Goodnight…

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

_To Say Goodnight… _

"So you like lemon bars, hmm?" I ask Beth, quite some while later, with the taste of lemon still lingering in my mouth.

"My favourite desert," she's still close enough that I can feel her lips curving upwards in a smile, against my cheek.

"I would never have guessed that."

"What would you have guessed?"she leans back and stretches out, with her legs draped across my lap.

Hmmm… what _would_ I have guessed? "Something more exotic than lemon bars, anyway," I tell her, because when I think of lemon bars, I think of all the church socials my mother dragged me to as a kid. (Yeah, no matter where we lived, Alison and me got dragged to church every fucking Sunday. And you can just see how well it took, too, can't you? Church is also where I learned to play the piano – we didn't have a pot to piss in, but with the right sob story, Mom could find at least one competant musician to force us to take lessons from.)

"Exotic? _Me_?" Beth sounds more than a wee bit surprised at my assessment.

I favour her with a half smile and let my hands play along her calves – nothing sexual, just sort of rubbing the muscle and listening to her purr softly in appreciation (which _is_ a serious turn-on, but anyway… I keep my paws below her knees… knees that are ticklish….)

"Stop that!" Beth wriggles, laughing almost hysterically. "God damn it – Sheldon!" She seems to be having a very hard time not screaming (and you know I'm enjoying the Hell out of myself…) "Oh, I'm going to get you!"

"Can't. I'm not ticklish," I grin over at her – although I do relent and leave her knees alone… for now.

"Everyone is ticklish somewhere."

I just smile at her – I'm not going to tell Beth exactly how I learned to 'shut off' – it happened long before I joined the CIA, but it was no more pleasant than some of the things I've had done to me in the last sixteen years… however, that just isn't something I want to think about right now. "Crème Brule."

"What?"

"What I would order for you, for desert. Crème Brule – with a cup of cappuccino, maybe a shot of – hmmm," I'm nibble at my fingertip while I consider various after dinner liquors… "Grand mariner, I think." It's only a guess, of course, but her cologne has a sort of orangey tang...

"You know, I've heard of it – Crème Brule, that is – but I can't say I that know what it is."

"Basically a baked, caramelized custard."

"That doesn't sound very exciting – just a fancy name for something I could make in my own kitchen."

I just chuckle, "So – you've let me figure out that you like lemon bars – and you don't think that Crème Brule is very exciting. I know your favourite colours are green and brown. What else? Besides having ticklish knees," I place hands on them without actually tickling…

"Don't you dare."

"Or you'll what?" I squeeze, just a little.

"I'm sure I'll come up with _something_." (I know she's smiling at me, I can hear it in her voice.)

I favour Beth with a wicked grin. "Than I suggest you start talking."

"Where should I start?"

"Favourite sandwich."

"Hmmmm – anything_ not_ wrapped in a tortilla."

"Come on – you can do better than that," and I give another little squeeze, making her wriggle a little.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Bet your sweet bottom."

"Ok – ok – stop!"

I do. For now.

"Tuna fish."

"Your favourite sandwich is _tuna fish_?"

"Well – I have to make it. I don't like onion or celery in my tuna – and it has to be _real_ mayonnaise. With dill and lemon, served on buttered, toasted wheat bread. I hate white bread unless it's potato bread – or Italian or French or something like that. I'm partial to pumpernickel bread, too – just not with tuna. And I feel the same way about margarine as I do about artificial mayo. It's butter or nothing around me."

"Note to self, Beth's arteries are hardening as we speak," I tease her.

She just laughs, "So – what about you? What's your favourite sandwich?"

Hmmm…. I really don't think I want to go there… even if I started this.

"I'm waiting."

"You have to promise not to laugh."

"On my honour," however I can hear her grinning in anticipation…

I'm tempted to ask her to guess, just so I don't have to say it… but – here goes nothing: "Peanut butter and banana on white," ok, she seems to be doing a good job of not giggling… much. "Bread not toasted – but everything has to be room temperature. My mother always kept the peanut butter in the fridge, I absolutely hated that. Cold peanut butter just does not spread right. And the bananas have to be ripe, not bitter." The perfect banana has plenty of freckles and absolutely no hint of green…

"Smooth or crunchy peanut butter?"

"Smooth."

"And you like the crusts cut off," Beth tells me (she's right, too)… "Chocolate milk to wash it down. You don't like white milk, but you'll drink chocolate."

"You really are just a little bit freaky."

"And you're really sure you can live with that?"

"Yes."

In the hall, the clock chimes – I count nine dings.

"I should get Cicily to sleep," Beth stirs slightly, sitting up.

"Where did you want to put her?"

"In bed with me – unless I can get you to change your mind and let me take the sofa."

"Ok – I'd like you to think about this logically," I tell her. "Sofa's here – door's about what – fifteen or twenty feet that way?" I nod in the direction I know the front door to be. "Do you_ really_ think I'm going to let you and Cicily sleep down here?"

"Sheldon –"

"Just a simple yes or no will do, thank you."

She sighs, "No."

"All right, then. Now – I should go upstairs and get a few things from my room –"

"Which is probably as well armed as a third world country?"

"I'll clear the guns too." (Cicily is seven and even I know that kids and guns don't mix.)

"Thank you."

I head upstairs and grab a few essentials from the bathroom, along with my robe, sweats and alarm clock. After assembling my things neatly on the bed (where I'll have no trouble finding them again), I go about removing the guns and getting them locked back into my trunk… a soft knock at the door draws my attention.

"Can I – have a second?" Emma sounds very unsure of herself.

What I want to say is that she can have all the time in the world – but I'm really just not good at this stuff, so the best she gets out of me is "Sure."

"I – never got a chance to – just ask how this morning went."

I think my expression must give me away…

"That bad, huh?" Emma asks.

"It wasn't really any worse than I expected," other than having Paula Basil heading up the investigation… but it still could have been worse. I motion for Emma to come on over and ask her to shut the door while she's at it. If Beth is right about some of the things Emma's probably worried about – well, there's no better time to deal with it than now, especially since Em came to me (which I hope is a good sign.)

"What is it?" my daughter parks herself on the bed a few feet away.

"Look – a lot more ended up changing today that I expected, ok?"

"Yeah. I know."

"Beth being here really doesn't change anything between you and me. I don't want you to just stay out of the way – I don't want you to feel like you have to jump in and get involved in whaterver's going on either. Just – just do whatever makes you happy. Within reason," I add with half a grin.

I think Emma almost smiles…"I really don't want you to think that I don't like her, Shelly. She's ok. It's just – when you told me there'd been a nurse who helped you – you didn't mention that there was anything more to the relationship. Which I guess isn't any of my business –"

I shake my head, "It affects you. It's your business. It's just that right now – we're just kind of taking it a day at a time. I wasn't exactly expecting her to show up on my doorstep today of all days."

"How did today really go?"

"I'm suspended from duty pending the CIA's investigation of what went down in Mexico – but I was expecting that."

"What'sgoing to happen?" And she sounds more than a wee bit afraid when she asks that question.

I guess I really am all Emma has left and if something happens to me…? Yeah. I am so_ not_ the guy anyone wants to hang their hopes on. "Em – it'll be ok."

"But – what – what do they think you _did_ – what are they investigating you for? You were just doing your job, right?"

"A field agent does whatever he has to do to get the job done. Sometimes it gets a little messy. Usually the Company – CIA – turns a blind eye, as long as you deliver the goods. This time – this time things got really messy and your old man was right in the middle of it, when the shit it the fan."

"I went online this morning, after you left. I checked out CNN and a couple of the other news services to find out what happened down there on the second," she tells me kinda quietly.

Oh, fucking peachy. But I guess it can't hurt to know what they're saying about back here, so I ask, in a carefully neutral tone just what it was she found out.

"That there was an attempted coup – some general guy tried to overthrow the Mexican government. The president was almost killed – in one interview he credited a group of 'loyal sons of Mexico' with saving his life."

"El," the word slips out before I can clamp my jaw shut.

"El? As in the?"

Ok, that gets a bit of smile out of me. "Yeah. El as in the. The Mariachi. A guy with a guitar case full of guns and nothing to live for." At least until I gave it to him – and I'm pretty sure Emma remembers my cryptic remark from the other day.

"So – this guy was working _with _you?"

"_For_ me." Pride won't let me let that one just slide by. Fucking bastard.

"But – if he was working for you, and he saved the president's life – shouldn't you just need his testimony or something? Wouldn't that clear everything up?"

"It's really not that simple, Emma. A lot of things – just went to shit on me all at once."

"Why won't you tell what's really going on?"

"Because I don't want to scare you."

"I'm already scared."

And I can't tell her that there's nothing to be scared of…

"All the news sites are talking about that guy who – you know," she says, then.

"Barillo." Yeah. His name would have hit the wires... "Ok, look, there are people in the CIA who're saying I was working _with_ Barillo – and it was Barillo who hired General Marquez to overthrow the president," because if she's going to hear this load of bull hockey, maybe I do want her to hear it from me first. "No matter how many different ways I say it, they're not buying that I wasn't working with Barillo. My 'superiors' have made up their minds that I'm guilty – that I went over to the other side."

"But you didn't."

And I'm not really sure if that's a question or a statement… "No. I didn't. I was set up."

"Why?"

"I'm still working on that. But I don't want you to sweat it. I've got a way out. It's – not the best way out – but it works. And sometimes you've just gotta do what works." Which has never been more true than it is now – and fuck me, but this is not a place I _ever_ thought I would be. I am living la vida loca… "Besides, it has the side benefit of pissing off a whole lotta people back at Langley." (Which almost makes it all worth it.)

A soft knock at the door alerts us both that Cicily is ready for bed…

"When will you know for sure?" Emma asks me.

I favour her with a half smile – Emma really is one smart little cookie. "It'll be a while before it's all over. And it could get a little ugly."

"All right," she gets up – I hear her cross the distance and open the door for Beth and Cicily. Then Emma beats feet back to her own room… I really wish she'd've stuck around. I don't like this feeling of – of being pulled in two directions at once… but maybe Beth is right, time is the only thing that will fix this.

Besides, I don't end up with much of a chance to think about it; Cicily is bounding over towards me… "Will you tuck me in?" she asks.

"Have you brushed your teeth?"

"Uh-huh. And my hair."

"Hmmm…. Ok. But it's going to cost you."

"Why?"

"Because I said so," I grin at her.

"What's it gonna cost?" she sounds dubious.

"You have to stop calling me Senor Sands."

"But that's what Mama said to call you!"

"She has a point," Beth says – it sounds like she's watching us from the door.

"Well I'm telling you that if you want me to tuck you in, you have to come up with something else to call me." Ha. (Of course it dawns on me after the words have come out of my mouth that I've just left myself_ wide_ open…)

"I don't want to call you Jeff. You don't look like a Jeff."

"So what _do_ I look like?"

Cicily ponders this for a little longer than I think I'm quite comfortable with. "I like Sheldon," she says at last.

I nod, "Sheldon it is," thank God.

Cicily hops into bed – as I lean over to pull the covers up around her, I feel her reaching up, beckoning a hug – much more carefully than that first time, I might add. It still feels weird. I mean – come on – what kind of man am I to be giving a sweet little kid like this one a hug good night? But here you have it. "Don't let the bed bugs bite," I grin down at her.

Cicily just giggles and I listen to her settling into the covers…

I grab an extra blanket from the foot of the bed and make my way towards the door.

Beth hits the light and follows me, shutting the door behind us.

"Is she – ok with all this?" I ask as we reach the steps.

Beth slows down and lets me place a hand on her elbow, "She's pretty resilient. The night we left her father – I just waited until he'd gone out with his brothers to get drunk, and threw everything I could into a suitcase. I was afraid to even call a cab – and I couldn't take the car, it was in his name. I had one friend I could trust to get us to the bus stop – and she had to meet us on the corner because – because everybody loves and or fears Neal and if her husband ever found out she'd helped me, he would have killed her."

My Christ… "So what finally made you leave him?"

"He hit my daughter. He hit her hard enough to fracture her jaw. She was four. He could have killed her."

"You know it's a really good thing you made me promise not to touch him before you told me that."

"You think it was an accident, Cowboy?"

"Why?" I toss my stuff onto the sofa.

"Why what?"

"Why did you stay with him for so long?"

I listen as Beth picks up the remains of desert and our coffee cups and carries them into the kitchen; I follow.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go. I knew Glenna would never let us stay with her – Corey was in the middle of his own problems. I only had a couple of friends in town, but no one I could stay with – like I said, everyone loved Neal or feared him."

Spontaneously and for no particular reason, I pull Beth towards me, wrapping my arms around her waist – she's startled at first, but very quickly settles comfortably into my grasp. "You realize I'm never going to let anybody hurt you like that again, don't you?" I say into her ear.

"I have to face him eventually."

"Fine. You face him. Just you remember there's going to be somebody standing right behind you when you do. Somebody packing a fuck of a lot of heat."

"Sheldon –"

"Not negotiable, Darlin'."

"How about we worry about Neal later," she asks me.

"As soon as you tell me what Milo did to fix things for you with the feds."

"I gather a higher court judge took issue with the fact that Neal's uncle signed the arrest warrant."

"All right." I don't like it. I would rather Milo had settled it by putting a bullet into Neal's skull – but I really didn't expect anything like that. As I've said, Milo's a real stand up guy. I find her mouth with mine – and I'm just going to keep on saying it, I love the way this woman kisses….

"I should really let you get some sleep," Beth tells me, some while later (we've long since moved to the sofa.)

"I'm not really tired," honestly, I'm not.

"You said it yourself – you've had a fuck of a day. And it's getting late."

And she's probably tired. I'm just not ready to let her go – to say goodnight. I'm ready to take the chance that I'm going to wake up and find that none of this was real…

"I'll be her in the morning, Cowboy, I promise."

"You have no idea how hard it really is," I tell to her. "Going to sleep in the dark – waking up in the dark – and never really knowing what's real and what's just a dream." Or a nightmare…

"_This_ is real."

And I'm real not sure I'm going to be going to sleep anytime soon… but I listen to her go upstairs, flipping off the lights as she goes. I take my toiletries to the bathroom and change into my sweats – it does feel good to peel off the denim. And – yeah, everything else (hey, I did mention being well armed, right?)

Going about my nightly business helps the blood flow back to where it normally flows – but taking off the glasses, even alone in the dark… I face the mirror I can't see, knowing what I would see if I could…

"What the Hell do you think you're doing, fuckmook? What does Beth think _she's_ doing? How can any of this really be real?" With a cautious touch, I feel my way up my face until I come to the gaping holes that used to have eyes growing out of them… I know she's seen me dozens of times… looked into what's left of who I used to be and not been afraid. And I can still feel the cold lump in my stomach wanting to rise…

I slide the mask into place quickly. Somehow it's presence makes it easier to – to forget. As if I could ever really forget – but at least if no one else sees me, I can at least pretend.

And walking back to the sofa, listening to the clock chime eleven times – yeah, I am pretty fucking exhausted. I tuck the Browning under the pillow and lay down… and… and I still get the fucked up urge to close my eyes when I get ready to go to sleep. Isn't that weird?

………………………………………………………………………………………

I can be a nightmare of the grandest kind

I can withhold like it's going out of style

I have the bravest heart that you've ever seen

And you've never met anyone who's as positive as I am sometimes

You see everything, you see every part

You see all my light and you love my dark

You dig everything of which I'm ashamed

There's not anything to which you can't relate

And you're still here

I blame everyone else, not my own partaking

My passive-aggressiveness can be devastating

I'm the most gorgeous woman that you've ever known

And you've never met anyone who's as everything as I am sometimes

You see everything, you see every part

You see all my light and you love my dark

You dig everything of which I'm ashamed

There's not anything to which you can't relate

And you're still here

What I resist, persists, and speaks louder than I know

What I resist, you love, no matter how low or high I go

You see everything, you see every part

You see all my light and you love my dark

You dig everything of which I'm ashamed

There's not anything to which you can't relate

And you're still here

And you're still here

And you're still here...

- Alanis Morresette -

-------------------------------------

Next up: the long awaited "Spanish Inquisition"


	29. The Spanish Inquisition

Sorry this took so long – but I've had a flurry of creativity – there are two more chapters coming after this in the next couple of days, just as soon as I get them polished up.

This chapter definitely did not turn out as expected, but I am much more pleased with it than I was with the original 'plan.' I'm one of those writers who just sits down and types, without an outline – the only thing I know with certainty is the final outcome, but getting from point A to point Z is always full of surprises. ;-)

Thank you again, so very much, to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! It is SO appreciated…

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

_The Spanish Inquisition…_

When I was a kid and anxious for the arrival of Christmas morning with it's promised booty under the cheap tinsel tree in my mother's living room – or waiting for Easter and a basket full of shredded news paper and waxy-chocolate, Mom would say that if I just shut my eyes and went to sleep, morning would be here before I knew it. Of course that was a lot easier to believe when I had eyes to shut. (Yes, really, once upon a time I _did_ believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny – even the Tooth Fairy.)

These days when I drift off to sleep, without eyes to shut, the lines between reality and dreams blur… over me a mummy stands ominously, gloating over some victory I just don't understand, even if part of my brain tells me that I'm about to understand it and that it isn't going to be pleasant… a beautiful woman tells me that she's his daughter and that just doesn't make any sense either, because – because that means I've been set up – and that's just not possible. _I_ throw shapes. _I _catch them. **_I_** set them up. **_I_** watch them fall… and I realize in the vaguest sort of way that I'm watching right now. I'm watching myself fall. And I can see happening.

I've seen too much… I've seen more than I want to… _I'll **never** see again_… the high-pitched whine of the drill is quickly drown out by the sound of screaming somewhere in the distance… red fades to black and when blackness takes over I realize that I _might_ be awake, I can't quite tell… I only know how desperately I wish my dreams were as full of black nothingness as my waking world… are those eyes dripping down my face, all hot and sticky? I can't be sure…

I'm lying down. That brings a moment of panic.

I can't see. I should be able to see. (I think. Nothing is as it should be…)

My heart is pounding in my ears.

I've seen too much.

I can't breathe.

Random thoughts and images pop in and out of my head – a Christmas tree, a cowboy hat… cinnamon and vanilla… orange-floral-musk. That's the scent of angels…

Under me… sofa. Pillow. Browning.

My handtouches the familiar worn terry of my bathrobe;. I know where I am.

There's even a familiar big furry animal sitting next to me, panting at me in the dark, waiting patiently for me to come to my senses. I reach out and take a very odd comfort in the feel of warmth and fur beneath my hand. I hear Spencer's tail thumping against the carpet in appreciation of the attention.

I can breathe again.

I can't see.

But that's normal.

And I didn't wake up screaming.

I reach over and find my clock. _Cinco y viente y ocho, _says the mechanical voice. Five twenty eight. Almost an hour and a half before the alarm was set to go off… oh well, I'm up. Might as well get up.

After taking care of morning necessities and starting a pot of coffee, I grab my robe, smokes and cell phone and step out onto the back deck with Spencer (I replaced the sleeping mask with the shades in the bathroom – no need to frighten the neighbours.)

I'm not what you'd call a morning person, but there _is_ something I do truly enjoy about a chilly autumn morning. The smell of frost on grass and dry, brittle leaves – smells like someone in the neighbourhood has a fireplace going. I _love_ that smell. I love everything about this time of year – I don't know why. I don't get into the usual holiday 'cheer' (I'm with Tom Lehrer on that subject – '_Deck the halls with hunks of holly, fill the cup and **don't** say "when."_'… of course, I'm rather partial Lehrer's assessment of the nuclear arms race too…)

I light up a cigarette and lean back against the siding, thinking cheerful little thoughts and listening to the world around me as I enjoy the first nicotine of the morning for a few moments before checking the cell phone for voice messages. A mechanical voice informs me that there are five. _Damn, I'm a popular guy._

Milo. Milo sounding panicky. Paula Basil (see, I told you I'd be hearing from her sooner or later and it'd probably be sooner…) Marcus –? Well isn't that interesting (the message itself is fairly innocuous – which is also quite interesting.) Milo one more time sounding like he's freaking right out. And lastly, Paula being pissed at me for not picking up, telling me this isn't a game…blah-blah-didy-blah... Christ on a crutch, does she really think I don't know this isn't a fucking game? This is _my_ life we're talking about here.

Spencer hops back up to the deck and we walk into the warmth of the condo together. I get his breakfast and my coffee – then dial Milo's number. And what do you know, it looks like the boy really does sleep sometime after all. Good for him. "Tag, Sugar Butt – you're it," I say after the beep. He'll get it that everything is fine. Although I am still going to wring his fucking neck.

And hmmmm… I dial that number Paula left for me. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven –

"Hello?" says a very sleepy voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey there Sweetcakes – I didn't wake you did I?" I reply with forced cheer.

"Do you have any idea what time it is, Jeff?"

"Sorry – can't seem to see the clock from here."

There's a moment of silence, than a rather curt, "It's six fucking a.m."

"Well your call sounded urgent," I tell her sweetly, "So I figured I'd better call you just as soon as I got the message."

More silence. I think she honestly doesn't know quite what to say. See, Paula knows what I'm like in the morning, and cheerful isn't a word anyone in their right mind would use... and for some reason most people who know me at all well tend to get a wee bit twitchy when I'm in an overly good mood. I've never been able to figure out why that is…

"Officer Basil?" I prompt, again, maintaining that same sickly sweet tone.

"Yeah. We need to talk."

"Well – my day is already pretty full –"

"This isn't a game, Jeff."

"So you keep saying – oh and ah sorry, though – I seem to have accidentally erased part of that second message –"

"When can you meet me?"

Damn, I don't think I ever noticed what a grump she can be in the morning - probably I was too busy being one myself. "Why don't you get yourself a nice cup of coffee and then we'll chat."

"Cut the crap. What are you doing for breakfast?"

"Sorry. Plans."

"Lunch?"

"Plans."

"Dinner."

"Sorry, Sugar – I have plans."

"I'll bet you do."

I just smirk, "Tell you what – I'll pencil you in for a drink – say around eight – hmmm – if I can find my calendar –"

"You're being an ass. Oh – wait, for a second I forgot who I was talking to."

"Touché." It took her long enough.

"Yeah well, it's early. So - eight o'clock?"

"It's a date, Doll – ten four and out – "

"Hey wait! Where are we meeting?"

"Well it only stands to reason that you got the job of investigating me because someone somewhere thinks you know me better than I do – so I'm _sure_ I'll show up just exactly where you think I will. Tah-tah." I hang up before she can respond… heh. Yes, I'm being an ass – well, did you really expect any less? I'm sure Paula didn't. Besides, if she's smart, she'll hit the right place because this isn't Mexico and I actually do have a favourite couple of watering holes – and she really does know them. If she can remember. It's been a while. Heh.

……………………………………………………………………………….

…I'm just getting up to get a second cup of coffee when I hear familiar footsteps coming down the stairs (and I swear for a few seconds there, I can't quite breathe because even though I knew she was still here, there really is a difference between knowing and _knowing_.) Beth is in the kitchen by the time I've got her coffee poured. A pair of soft warm arms wrap themselves around my waist from behind, "Morning, Cowboy."

You know what hits me – really hard – right about here? I realize that for the first time in a long time, I think I can actually remember what it feels like to be happy. I stop what I'm doing just long enough to put my arms over hers and really just enjoy this.

"I told you I'd be here in the morning," Beth adds, softly.

"And you never lie, do you?"

"Nope. For me?" she asks of the coffee.

"Almost," I hate to let go – but I know there's honey around here somewhere…it's in one of those stupid bear shaped bottles, you know the ones, where the honey runs out of the bear's head. Personally, I think they should have it coming out the other end, but that's just me…

"I can get that you know."

"Or you can just sit down and let me be a gentleman."

"And I'm betting things will go a lot more smoothly if I just do it your way, right?" She asks – but I know she's smiling.

"You better believe it." (I wonder if she's on to just how much of a control freak I really am – yes, I can admit to that, thank you. I _like_ having things my way.)

Beth just laughs and sits down while I fix her cup. Honey in coffee – that one still boggles my mind (I take mine black with two to three teaspoons of sugar, just in case you're wondering.)

"You sleep ok?" I ask her as I putter with the coffee.

"Yeah. You?"

"Better than I have in a while," I admit; I start another pot before joining her. "Cicily still asleep?"

"She woke up with me – she'll be down in a few minutes. Looks like you've been up for a while, though."

I'm guessing the empty pot gave me away. "I'm really _not_ a morning person," I assure her. I light up a couple of smokes and pass one over; I really do feel so normal, being with her like this, like we're just any two people, going about the business of the morning. I wonder if Beth will ever realize how much I dig that.

"You know, you're going to spoil me if you keep this up."

I just shrug. I kind of dig the idea of spoiling her, too. However… "Do you have any plans for the day?" I really hate to ask Beth to do what I'm about to ask her to do, but adding Paula to my day has made it just that much longer.

"I hadn't even thought about it yet – is there something you need me to do?"

"I don't know how much Milo told you about the situation with Emma –?"

"He didn't tell me anything – and neither did she really, just what you and I talked about last night."

Figures. I give Beth the real quick and dirty version of what happened with that school Ally and Roscoe sent my kid to.

"And you want me to see if I can find a school that will take her – in November? You realize it's barely three weeks until Winter break – which is usually the end of the semester."

"Don't public schools have to take anybody at any time?"

"Yes – but – if you can avoid it – "

"Right now I just want to avoid having to shoot a truant officer."

Beth chuckles – but I'm pretty sure she realizes that I would do it.

"I'll see what I can come up with. Maybe it'll give Emma and I something to work on together. I mean – I'm assuming – that – you didn't change your mind over night – that you still really want us to stick around –?"

I'm about to show her how much I want her to stick around when we both hear Cicily's footsteps bounding down the steps – so all I can do is tell her that yes, I really do want her to stay.

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"If you change your mind –"

"Never," I tell her again. I like having her right here…

"Morning!" Cicily says as she joins us… ah yes, the sound of a child in the morning. Why is that they are such morning people at that age?

"Good morning, Sweet Pea," Beth's smile is truly audible (and it really amazes just how much love I can hear in her voice when she talks to Cicily. I'm trying to remember if my mother was ever like that – I don't think so, but it was an awful long time ago...) I hear what sounds like a hug being exchanged between them and can't quite help but smile. I really do like having them here.

Then Cicily turns in my direction and I find small arms wrapped around my neck – and I really can't do anything except hug her back. When she lets go, I announce my plans to get in a shower – Beth says she's going to start seeing about breakfast.

"You really don't have to –"

"I have to do something to feel useful," she tells me.

I just sigh – I suppose I should just let it go. I'm just not real used to being taken care of… "Um – I really hate to ask, but could your help me with something first?"

And I swear, I can just about hear Beth's eyebrow raising, "Yes?"

I just chuckle a little; I don't have to be psychic to know what she's probably thinking I want (well, I_ would_ like Beth to come in and scrub my back – or front – but that really isn't what I'm about to ask…) "I – need to find a particular t-shirt and I'm afraid I'm a little – um –impaired in certain areas."

"I can help," Cicily offers cheerfully.

"Um –" I hear Beth's hesitation.

"Ok," I agree – and try to give Beth what I hope is a reassuring smile – she's seen my t-shirts.

"Are you sure?" Beth queries – yes, that is definitely trepidation in her voice.

I just keep smiling and head towards the stairs with Cicily beside me – and I'm very conscious of the slow easy pace she takes. "So what do you think of Washington D.C. so far?" I ask her as we go.

"I don't know – I haven't seen much of it. But I liked the movie – we don't get to go to the movies very much at home – Mama doesn't like the theatre there. And I like Emma, too," she adds quickly.

"So what movie did you guys see?" I don't quite know what else to ask about…

"Brother Bear. It's about an Indian boy who gets turned into a bear so he can learn to be nicer to bears."

Nicer to bears? Right.

"He was really mean because he didn't understand what it was to be a bear," she explains. "So the Spirits turned him into one so he could find out."

Whatever it was about, I think I owe Emma big time. "So, maybe I can show you guys around the city, a little later," I suggest. (Yes, enough about bears already…)

"I don't know if we're gonna be here that long. Mama said you had lots of important stuff to do and we probably wouldn't even see you much – and that we weren't really staying very long anyway."

"Well – I do have some things I have to do," I admit – we reach the master bedroom (I feel so freaking hoity toity when I put it that way – 'the master bedroom' – insert cheesy English butler accent here... Christ.) "But I think you guys'll be around long enough to get to see a _few_ things," and because I gave my word, I won't tell her that they're staying – indefinitely? Forever? We really don't know what the fuck we're doing, do we? And I suddenly realize that Cicily has gone all quiet on me – she hasn't even come into the bedroom. "What's the matter?" I ask – I _know_ she's not afraid of being alone with me…

"Nothing."

Right. "You sure?"

"Uh-huh."

"Come on – talk to me – don't you want to see the rest of the city?" I ask, kneeling down to her level. I really don't know how to talk to children; it doesn't help that all I'm getting from the only child I want to talk to is silence… and it feels to me like frightened silence. But I **_know_** she's not afraid of me… "D.C. is the capitol of the United States you know," I am so out of my fucking element here…

"I know."

"Have you ever been here before?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Well there's lots to see – the White House, the Lincoln Monument – come on, what's wrong?"

I hear – movement. My best guess is that she just shrugged at me. Swell. I believe I have just come to the conclusion that women are impossible to figure out no matter _what_ age they are. And now I'm living with three of them… I'm fucking doomed. All the same, I refuse to be stymied by a seven year old. "How about the Smithsonian?" I ask next, because ok, maybe seeing the White House would sound a little dull to a kid…

"What's that?"

Ah-ah – she sounds genuinely curious… see, all those interrogation skills _do_ come in hand in the 'real world'. "A really big museum. They have – well they have just everything there."

"They can't have _everything_, silly – then there wouldn't be anything anywhere else."

Ok, I refuse to be stymied by a _precocious_ seven year old. "Ok, maybe not _everything_ – but _almost everything_."

Cicily giggles.

Hah. I have conquered the situation. (Great, the mighty Sheldon Jeffrey Sands has fallen so far that his greatest conquest is besting a seven year old. Christ on a crutch.) "So – is it a date? Maybe Saturday?"

"If we're still here." (And the giggle has vanished; so much for my victory. But I'm not down for the count yet…)

"I think maybe I can talk your mother into staying that long. It's only a few more days."

More movement – I'm guessing it's another shrug.

I _really_ thought I had her there, too. "Don't you want to see the Smithsonian?"

"Uh-huh – but – you – don't really have to – to take us. Mama and me can go by ourselves."

Ok, game over, I've had it. )And so have my legs – shit kneeling is _not _a good position when one's been fairly recently shot.) My ass finds the carpet and I cross my arms over my chest, "Don't you _like_ having me around?" I ask. (Even though I'm really just trying to provoke her enough to level with me I am honestly a little hurt here, because… because I really do like this kid and I _thought_ it was mutual… was I wrong?)

"Oh no! No, I love having you around!"

_Oops_… miscalculation, sounds like tears starting… fuck… I really don't know how to talk to kids. Beth is going to storm in at any second and rip me a new one, I just know it (although I don't hear footsteps on the stairs. Yet.) Softening my tone considerably, I manage to coax Cicily over to me – and find her in my lap. Oh boy. _Ok, Sheldon, just breath. She's only a kid …never mind that you've **never** had a kid in your lap before..._

"I wish we_ never_ had to go away," Cicily tells me – her voice is somewhere between a whimper and a whine – and those are definitely tears I hear in there. Swell.

But – ok, maybe it's a starting point. "Is that why you're upset? You don't want to leave?" I put my arms around her – but I feel really fucking awkward here. Hugging her when she's standing up – or I'm tucking her in – that's one thing – but there is a seven year old sitting in my lap. This is a really new experience. I don't even like kids, remember?

"No – I mean – I _don't_ wanna leave – but – you don't have to take us anywhere, honest. We're fine right here. I like being right here. We don't have to go anywhere."

Now I'm really confused. Did Beth tell her not to bug me or something? She was awfully convinced that they wouldn't be staying but – I really don't know. Cicily is clearly upset about _something_ and I just will not be stymied by a kid. Besides, this isn't just a game any more. I want to know what the fuck is the matter here. (And I want to fix it.) "What if I want to you guys out?" I ask as gentlyas I know how.

Cicily sniffles, "But you don't have to, really."

"Well – no – I don't have to," I concede. "But – what if I _want_ to?"

"I just don't want you to be sad," she tells me.

Okie-dokie. I am officially lost. "Sweetie, the only thing making me sad right now is not knowing what's going on inside that pretty little head of yours."

"You said – even after you got better – you still wouldn't be able to see. And – if you take us someplace where the only thing to do is to see things – that'll make you sad. I don't want you to be sad."

My Christ – all these years without a soul to care whether I lived or died – and suddenly – suddenly I've got a pair of angels worrying about me… a pair of angels and one very uncertain teen aged daughter. I really am doomed. I wrap my arms securly around Cicily, bringing her in close. "Taking you and your Mom sight seeing won't make me sad. I've already seen the Smithsonian – so I wouldn't be going to see stuff anyway. I'd just be going to – to hang out with you guys. And _that _would make me very happy." And that's the truth. But when did I turn into – into a guy who honestly would love to spend a Saturday afternoon at the Smithsonian with… a family… ok… I really need to stop this train of thought right here. This – this is getting a little too real – and too real is just too fucking scary… but this is what I want, isn't it? When I asked Beth to stay, _**this**_ is what I wanted… it's just that I am _really _realizing that this is more than just that happy little feeling I get when Beth is in the room. This is… this is me needing a cigarette.

I feel Cicily turn her head so that she's looking straight up at me, "It would really make you happy to take us to the – Mithonian?"

"Smithsonian," I correct her gently, trying desperately to reign in my panic – yes, being happy is really fucking scary, ok? In my experience happiness truly is a counterfeit emotion.It's full of all this promise but at the end of the day all you wind up with is a whole lotta hurt, so you learn not to believe that anything good can ever happen to you. Good things only happen to other people. However, I really do not want to try explaining that to a seven year old. She's just young enough to hold onto a few fantasies yet – and as near as I can figure, Cicily hasn't exactly had a peachy little childhood. I don't want to be the one to make it worse. "It would make me happy to show you guys around," I tell her. "If you want."

I feel Cicily nodding against my chest – and I'm still freaking out, I'm just keeping it locked up tight where she can't see it. I'm real good at that. "Ok, I'll talk to your Mom – and we'll see what we can do. Meantime – how about you help me find something?"

"Sure – what?"

I describe the t-shirt in question and get into the bathroom as fast as I can without rousing suspicion.

And I stand under some very hot water for a _very_ long time.

I am _not_ Ward Cleaver. I am _not_ Mike Brady. I'm not even fucking James Bond. I'm the Bad Guy – the cowboy. The lone gunman. The only thing that I have waiting for me at the end of my life is a shallow grave and one way ticket on the express elevator down to see ol' Hob. I have no illusions. I know who I am. _What _I am. I made my choices – I have no regrets. No going back. No fucking apologies. _This _is my life.

And my Christ – there's a woman out there – within my grasp – who – who wants – what? What can I give her? I'm a fucking menace, remember?

_So you can chose a different life… maybe your nothing** is** my everything…. nothing worth while is ever easy… _

But we're not talking 'easy' or 'not easy', we're talking 'impossible'. My life doesn't fit trips to the zoo or Girl Scout meetings. My life is – it's just what Holly said it would be. It's built on lies and deceit; nothing is real. Well, the guns are fucking real enough, so are the bullets – but the _rest _of it? The rest of it is manipulation and mendacity. (Leave your dictionaries where they are, kiddies, that's just a fancy word for lies. And I'll bet you didn't know they call it 'consonation' when you put two words that start with the same consonant right next to one another… yeah, I'm meandering – but can you blame me?)

Even if I get out of this in one piece – even knowing that there's no way the Company would ever take me back – do I _really_ expect the rest of my life to be so differentfrom what it's been so far? I am who I am. A leopard can't change is strips... a bad guy will always be a bad guy.

(And yes, I do realize that at the core of my little freak-out what's really going on is that I'm scared out of my shorts, because here it is – right here – that 'all' I wanted so bad when I was younger. All I have to do is to have the guts to see it through – and _not _screw it up. Right. Do the words 'fat chance' mean as much to you as they do to me? I don't know how to make this work. I – I can't. I'm going to screw it up – you know it as well as I do. And, see, that's freaking me out too, because I know I could have it, _really _have it – and then lose it all again to my own fucking stupidity. I'm not real sure I could live through that.)

I finally pull myself out of the shower long abouts the time the water is getting cold. I don't feel any closer to 'an answer' – if there even is one. Realistically, the choices are pretty simple. Either I have the guts to try – or I don't. Either way, I'm sure it's going to end badly, it's just a matter of degree.

I locate my razor and shaving cream – and I remember the first time I tried to shave blind, sitting in Beth's tub, after she'd coaxed me into trusting her enough to let her help me wash my hair… I still wonder if she has any idea how easy it is to kill a man in the bathtub. She could have hurt me – she could have killed me. She could have sold me out to any number of people for quite a lot of dough. It wasn't like I gave her any kind of reason to help me – Christ, when I really think about it, I was truly a fucking asshole. But she held onto me in the dark anyway – she chased away the nightmares just by being there. She took care of me in a way that I honestly don't think anyone else ever has. (Milo is the only other person who's _ever_ seen me vulnerable.)

I wonder if he's right – if there have been other people who would have cared about me if I'd given them half a chance… I may never know the answer to that question. There haven't been any other people I've wanted to let in.

But I _do _want this. I want her. I want 'it all'.

I just know I'm going to screw it up sooner or later – probably sooner.

Trying very hard not to think about what it's going to feel like when it all comes crashing down, I get myself dressed. I'm going to just enjoy this while it lasts – that's my motto, right? Take what you can, when you can get it and just enjoy the Hell out of it – then move on. This situation isn't so different… except I'm not so sure about that moving on part. But hey, who knows, maybe somebody will put a bullet in my skull before I have to worry about it. It's not like I can't think of at least a dozen people who would like to see me dead…

…Emma is just coming out of her room as I exit the 'master bedroom'.

"Shelly – you _can't_ be serious."

"About?"

"The wardrobe."

I'm wearing a clean t-shirt (I gave it the sniff test) with a nice silk screen image of Michael Palin, and Terrys Jones and Gilliam, dressed up in red Cardinal frocks – one of them has goggles on his head (I think that's Jones). Bold red letters across the top of the picture proclaim that **_NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition!_** Smaller less bold black print on the back reads: _Our chief weapon is surprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise... Our two weapons are fear and surprise...and ruthless efficiency... Our three weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency...and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope... Our four...no... Amongst our weapons... Amongst our weaponry...are such elements as fear, surprise... I'll come in again. _The print is accompanied by the image of a comfortable looking arm chair… Of course I'll be wearing a suit coat with it, so no one will see the back, unless I take it off… and doing that will also reveal the heat I'm going to be packing…

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I ask, managing a grin. I really _am_ looking forward to this meeting with her school… sometimes it's life's little pleasures that make all the difference in my world.

"You're seriously going to wear _that _to see Mr. Harrison?"

"Harrison – principal?"

"Yeah. And he has absolutely no sense of humour."

Oh goodie… "Come on – it smells like breakfast down there – " (eggs – bacon – can't tell what else from up here – although I _think_ I smell a fresh pot of coffee brewing and I could really use another cup of that... )

"Maybe we can talk – later?" Emma asks – is that trepidation I hear in her voice?

"Sure," is the only thing I really can say…

In the living room, Cicily is watching television – nothing I recognize, but I'd hazard a guess that if I could see it, there would be talking animals and brightly coloured puppets. Emma walks with me into the kitchen, but she only stays long enough to get a cup of coffee and ask Beth if she can lend a hand with anything (I do give my kid credit, whatever her problem is – and I'm assuming she still has one, why else would she want to talk to me later – she's being more than civil.)

"You could set the table," Beth suggests.

Emma doesn't say anything, but I listen to her getting dishes down from the cupboard – silver from the drawer – and she heads towards the dining room... I pour my own coffee and slid up next to Beth (she's at the stove), and rest one hand on her hip. I _really_ need to feel her warmth right now.

"That good, huh?" she asks.

"Do you really know what I'm thinking?"

"It doesn't work that way. I just know something's wrong – and I hope it's not me."

Christ, she's the only thing that's _right_… even if I don't know how long it's really going to last… I just shake my head, I don't want to think about it, I just want to enjoy her company. "Emma wants to talk to me later – and I have no idea what it could be about. And I really do not do well with uncertainty."

"I'm sure it's not that bad."

I just shrug – I don't really want to talk about it. "So what smells so good?"

"Nothing special – potatoes, bacon – how take your eggs?"

"You tell me," I manage a grin.

Man, I love her laugh, even when it's directed at me –

"Hmmmm… over easy," Beth opins after a moment.

"Freaky, Ange. Just plain freaky."

"You do realize that I had an almost fifty percent of getting that one right. _Most_ adults take their eggs over easy – after that it's scrambled."

"I don't care. You're still freaky."

"Uh-huh. Eggs are on the counter behind you, in the carton – be useful and hand 'em over, Cowboy. And I love the shirt, by the way."

I just grin at her, "It seemed appropriate."

And I am very sure that Beth is shaking her head at me…

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

… The last time I was in a high school was when I was in high school. I can't say they've improved much. The joint Emma attends (attended? Well, whatever, it reeks of old sweat socks and industrial cleaner.) At least by the time Emma and I arrive (with Spencer) all but the most delinquent of her classmates are in class so the halls are mostly empty. I don't like people and the younger they are, the less I like them.

Emma gets me to the main office but tells me she has to grab a few things from her locker, "Assuming you're really serious about pulling me out of here –?"

"If I keep you here, will you actually attend classes?"

"What do you think?"

"Right. So don't take too long getting your stuff." I really don't intend to give these people too much of my time.

"I won't – I pack light everywhere I go."

Right. She kinda reminds me of me… which is just too damned scary.

I listen to the sound of Emma's retreat – and into the office, I go. And I am immediately greeted by a very familiar scent – which sets my nerves right on edge… it's my sister's cologne.

Locating her isn't difficult – Alison actually stands up to greet me.

"What are you doing here?" I demand _just_ loud enough for her to hear (there seem to be five or six other people in the office – but other than one conversation that I heard come to a halt as I entered, it seems as if I'm being ignored. Good.)

"How are you? I had a great weekend, thanks for asking," is Alison's response.

(Behind me I hear the conversation that stopped start up again – sounds like someone talking on the phone…) "Cut the crap and answer my question," I snap back at her.

(A little further in the background, I hear someone typing on a computer, and papers are being shuffled.)

"I'm here because the principal called me, after you called to say Emma wouldn't be in yesterday. Since I'm the one who registered her for school, they're still trying to figure out who _you_ are."

And here I didn't think my day could get any worse… "And?" I prompt.

"And – here I am. And oh, my marriage may finally be over, thank you."

"You're not losing out on much. That guy's a total fuckmook."

"Well that total fuckmook is the only person who ever took care of me, Shel. He was there for me when Mom was sick – he was there when I needed someone. You, as usual, had no interest in anyone but your_self_."

"You're fucking adult – when are you going to stop needing someone to hold your hand through every little crisis?"

"You call Mom's bypass surgery a little crisis?"

"What could I have done for her anyway – I'm not a doctor."

"No. Doctors _save_ lives."

And I don't know why, but her words really cut right through to the bone today. Maybe it's just because I've already had a fuck of a morning... "I did my best, ok? All the while we were growing up I did the best I could – I gave you everything I had – I took care of you – "

"In what dreamland? Mom took care of us – _she_ raised us, she gave us everything we had – you were – you were a kid, just like me."

"What about Chet Wheaton? That was me – "

"Jesus Christ, Shel – you almost _killed_ Chet Wheaton with that little 'stunt' of yours. You actually expect me to be grateful to you for _that_? Mom had to quit the first good job she had because of it – because of _you_. Or do you really think you're so good she didn't know you were behind the 'accident' that landed Chet in the hospital?"

And – fuck me, but she _actually_ sounds like she feels sorry for that little twerp. I don't believe this – he knocked her down and stole her bike – and she's upset that I put him in the hospital? I think I need a cigarette.

"The last few years Mom and me got real close, Shel," Alison goes on. "Did you know that every time a neighbour's pet went missing, she honestly expected to find it buried in our backyard."

"Christ on a crutch," now I _know _I need a cigarette. I hate bullies – and Alison knows it. "If I need to prove how tough I am, I'll take out somebody bigger than me – not someone smaller – or somebody's fucking pet." Yeah, it takes a real tough guy to gut a cat. Shit. Shit, fuck, damn and Hell. I do not need this crap right now.

"She told me how she and Dad used to fight about you all the time –"

"Oh, now_ I'm_ the reason they split up, not little Miss Hot Pants?"

"I didn't say he didn't end up marrying Gloria –"

"Gloria – you mean it has a _name_ now?"

"Yes, Sheldon. She has a name. She always had a name, you just refused to use it. Even Mom called her by name."

"Um – excuse me," says a voice behind us – female, middle aged, perfume that smells like floral air freshener, "Mr. Harrison is ready for the parents of Emma Dawson –?"

It's not even ten o'clock in the morning and already I have a fucking migraine…oh yeah, and I really wanna kill somebody, I'm just not sure who. Yet.

Just then, Alison catches my arm (I'm pleased by Spencer's low, warning growl. Good dog…) "Sheldon – there's something else we need to talk about."

"Fine. Then will you go away?"

"Nothing could make me happier."

"Swell." I'll deal with the principal – talk to my sister – and then get the fuck outa Dodge…

…………………………………………………………………………….

A Christmas Carol By Tom Leher 

Christmas time is here, by golly,  
Disapproval would be folly,  
Deck the halls with hunks of holly,  
Fill the cup and don't say "when."  
Kill the turkeys, ducks and chickens,  
Mix the punch, drag out the Dickens,  
Even though the prospect sickens,  
Brother, here we go again.

On Christmas Day you can't get sore,  
Your fellow man you must adore,  
There's time to rob him all the more  
The other three hundred and sixty-four.

Relations, sparing no expense'll  
Send some useless old utensil,  
Or a matching pen and pencil.  
"Just the thing I need! How nice!"  
It doesn't matter how sincere it is  
Nor how heartfelt the spirit,  
Sentiment will not endear it,  
What's important is the price.

Hark the Herald Tribune sings,  
Advertising wondrous things.  
God rest ye merry merchants,  
May you make the Yuletide pay.  
Angels we have heard on high  
Tell us to go out and buy!

So let the raucous sleigh bells jingle,  
Hail our dear old friend Kris Kringle,  
Driving his reindeer across the sky.  
Don't stand underneath when they fly by.


	30. Cracks in the Glass…

Illyria:

Writing in the first person is incredibly challenging (how's that for a politically correct way to say "pain in the ass" ? ;) Originally I was just going to get a better feel for Sands by writing a few warm up pages in the first person before getting to work on the story, but as you can see, the warm up became the story ;)

Really, though, I feel like I owe Robert Rodriguez for creating a character like Sands who lends himself so well to being written in the first person – although I will very happily take your compliments (you made my morning!) (And I really don't think Sands would be the Sands we all know and love if any other actor had played him, but maybe that's just me…)

…………………………………………………………..

**Chapter Twenty Nine:**

_Cracks in the Glass…_

…

"You can't just withdraw Emma from school, Mr. Sands," Harrison tells me. "It simply doesn't work that way."

This guy obviously has no idea who he's dealing with… "Just watch me – assuming you can see, that is." I smirk in his direction, "Being somewhat sight impaired myself, I have no way of knowing – "

"Sheldon, be reasonable," that, of course, is Alison. "This is a good school. You just have to get her to stay in class."

Harrison makes a rude sounding noise.

We have established who I am – I half expected Alison to pull some kind of stunt, but she confirmed my identity and the fact that I've been out of the country and out of touch. And Harry over there was at least bright enough not to ask a lot of questions. We are spitting distance from Washington D.C., after all.

I turn my head in my sister's direction, to give the illusion that I'm looking at her – mostly because I'm sure it unnerves the Hell right out of her to know just what is (and _isn't_) behind the dark lenses of my shades. "Well according to my daughter, this 'good school' either doesn't offer or won't let her into any of the classes she wants –"

Harrison interrupts me, "The classes your daughter wanted to take this semester were either full – or_ restricted_."

"Restricted – what does that mean?" I want to know.

"It means she would have to earn her way in, just like every _other_ student in our advance placement and college prep courses. Besides even if we _had_ let her in, Miss Dawson never would have been able to keep up – her presence would have only brought down the rest of the class."

This guy cannot possibly have any idea how badly I want to smoke his brains out right here… but I suppose that would put a kink or two in the rest of my day and really, I'm not sure he's even worth the price of the lead. "Fine. She's not going to stay here anyway –"

"Your daughter is fifteen years old – you are _legally obligated_ to keep her in school," that's still Harry. I'm betting this guy really likes to hear the sound of his own voice – he must spend hours on end, just talking and talking and not even bothering to notice if anyone else is even listening…

"You're never going to find someplace that will take Emma in the middle of the school year," Alison adds. "Not with her grades."

"As it is, Miss Dawson on academic suspension. If we don't see immediate improve in her grades – _and_ attitude – I'm afraid I'll no choice but to take drastic measures."

"And let me guess, by drastic measures, you're threatening to expel her?" I say. "And see – here I thought you_ didn't_ want to get rid of her. _Now_ I get it." I need a cigarette. This guy is a total fuckmook…

"No one wants it to come to that, Mr. Sands, and it isn't as if we are unaware of the delicate nature of your daughter's situation," sounds like ol' Harry over there is backpedaling big time, "With the loss of her mother and your – _absence_ from the home. But quite frankly that is no excuse for the kinds of behaviour Emma has been exhibiting. I have recommended several good psychologists to your sister already – "

Ok, I've had enough – this has seriously ceased to be amusing. My head is pounding and got a fuck of a full day ahead of me – so without giving them any warning whatsoever, I get up and I walk out the door. (You thought I was going to pull some heat outa my shorts, didn't you? I want to – but it really would just put too many kinks in my day – and not the good kind either…)

Emma is sitting in the main area of the office waiting for me. I hear her stand as I come out – but wisely she doesn't say a word. Guess that scowl on my face is giving me away.

Either that or she sees Alison racing after me…

"Sheldon – wait!"

Temporarily ignoring Alison (believe me, I wish I _could _permanently ignore her), I tell Emma to get a cab out here on the double-quick and I don't stop walking because I want a cigarette, and I want it now (I think even Spencer is having a hard time keeping up with me)… _hey, wait a minute_ – _since when do **I** care about rules?_ I dig out my pack and have a cig lit by the time I hit the Great Outdoors. God, I needed that. My nerves are fucking jangled as Hell…

"You can't smoke here," Alison informs me, stepping out into the cold.

"We're out of the building –"

"You can't smoke within a hundred yards of school property."

"So let them fucking arrest me," I take a long drag off my smoke and exhale in her general direction (petty, I know, but my head hurts too much for me to come up with anything better at the moment.)

The nicotine isn't really helping, but I enjoy the act of smoking. I think I'm enjoying it even more knowing I'm "not allowed" to do it here. Christ, I'm not in the building, not hurting any precious adolescent lungs – not that most of those little hooligans don't toke up on stuff a whole lot stronger than what I'm smoking. I know what goes down in high schools… hmm… better make a mental note to have _that_ little chat with Emma sometime real soon, too. And speaking of my little muffin, I notice Emma's not here yet – she probably has enough brights to realize she doesn't want to be anywhere near me and my sister right now.

"You don't care about anyone but yourself, do you?" Alison says to me.

"Broken record, Sis. You got a new track or are just going to keep dancing to the same old tune?"

"Sheldon – yesterday a lawyer came to see me – he represents Emma's grandparents. They're seeking custody."

Ok, that got my attention. I stop, mid puff and let my cig hang there between my lips, 'looking' in her direction. "And?"

"They've been trying to get custody since before her mother passed away. Shel – they have money – a lot of money –"

"Yes, I was aware of that, Sis."

"I just – I wasn't sure what you knew about them –"

"I know them. The old man hates me." There's an understatement for you.

"Gosh, I can't imagine why."

Yessiree, sarcasm runs in our family all right…

"So just what did you tell this attorney?" I ask.

"Just what I know – which as usual isn't much."

"I'm not playing games here, Alison. What _exactly_ did you tell this attorney?"

She heaves a heavy sigh, "I didn't tell him you were with the CIA – just that you'd been out of the country on business and were probably living somewhere in the D.C. area."

Well, at least she isn't a _total_ moron. Even if I'm in a boatload of shit with work, disclosing the identity of a covert op can be a pretty serious offence – and the fact that I'm in this boatload of shit could actually make it worse. You never really know how this stuff is gonna roll until it starts – and then it's just too late to stop it.

"I didn't tell him I might see you today because I wanted a chance to talk to you first –"

"How very considerate of you," in other words, she figured that I might shoot first and ask questions later if some lawyer just showed up with her threatening to take Emma away from me.

"Sheldon, please – think about Emma. Think about your life – is that really the place for a teenaged girl? I have the guy's card – we can go back to my house and call – "

"Do you _really_ think I'm going to just turn my kid over to these people?"

"Just for once in your life, can't you think about someone _other_ than yourself? These people could give her a nice, safe, comfortable life –"

"This coming from the woman who would have sent her packing to some state run home?"

"I – I just didn't know what else to do. I was desperate to save my marriage – not that it matters, you pretty much torpedoed that anyway."

"You are not going to lay that on me, Al. If it failed then it's because you married the wrong guy, not because of anything I said or did – "

"_You destroy everything you touch! _You ruin **_everyone_** around you! You're poison, Sheldon. You always have been – and the saddest part is that I really believe you don't even realize it."

"I know _exactly _who I am," I snarl back at her – and I think I could introduce her to a mariachi who would back me up on that.

"Than you have to realize you're not the kind of man who could **ever** be a father. You don't know the _first thing_ about taking care of someone else – you've _never_ put anyone else above or before you – and your life – my Christ, Shel. Do you really think that any judge is going to side with _you_ over a stable, sane, normal couple who have the means to give Emma a really good life?"

I pitch what's left of my cigarette to the ground with a lot more force than is necessary (so much so that Alison actually jumps), but when I speak, my voice is a whole lot quieter than you might be expecting – and it's solid ice. "I will _never_ give her up. **_Ever_**."

"That's only because you're so selfish you won't let go of anything, even for someone else's own good. Maybe Mom was right – maybe you're just wired differently, I don't know. All I know is that the Dawsons could give Emma a chance at a _real _life – a happy life. They love her, Shel – you don't even know what love is!"

"I loved _you_ – I protected _you_ –" I feel like I'm spiraling downward, falling, spinning out of control – but I _know_ I haven't moved. I'm right here in front of the school, standing on my own two feet… it just feels as if they've come unglued from the sidewalk.

"You _terrorized_ me. I was afraid to bring my friends home because I never knew what my psycho brother would do next – especially if you decided you didn't like who I was hanging around with."

"_I was only trying to protect you_."

"Well you protected me all right – you protected me right into being scared and alone. Are you _really _so selfish you'd do that to your own daughter?"

"Holly sent Emma to _me,_" and that has to mean something… right?

"Maybe she just didn't know you very well."

"Like you do?"

But before she can answer, the door opens. It's Em, I recognize the freesia oil. "Cab's pulling into the lot," she tells me – and her voice is _real_ damn quiet. It seriously sounds like she's barely breathing.

Emma puts her arm into mine and keeps real close. She's not guiding me – she's hanging onto me. (Although she does manage to get us to the cab – Alison doesn't follow, which probably saves her life, because I'm real ready to forget that she's my sister and I've always said I'd never hurt her.)

I let Spencer hop in first and then slide into the back after him; Emma slips in literally on my coat tails, and when it becomes clear that I'm not going to say anything, she gives our driver directions. Fortunately he seems to comprehend. I'm not sure who's shaking more, me or my kid…

It takes Emma several very long moments to find her voice again – and it's no louder than it was when she told me the cab had arrived. "I heard part of that. I wasn't trying to – but – I did."

"I'm sorry."

"You – are?"

"Yeah."

"Um – so –?"

"So?" I'm in no mood for games. My head is pounding, my stomach is churning, and the whole world feels like a fucking tilt-a-whirl ride. I tell our driver to pull over at the nearest convenience store. It literally feels as if the acid from my stomach is crawling up the back of my throat.

"So – what – are you going to do?" Emma asks.

Does she mean other than kill somebody… no, I don't have a particular target in mind, although I'm beginning to consider going back on my promise to Beth. I really want to make somebody to feel like I do – and Neal is looking like a real fucking good candidate about now. But… "Do you think we could have this conversation later?" I ask my kid. "Maybe sometime when my head _doesn't_ feel like it's going to fall off?"

"Yeah. Sure. Sorry."

"Em – "

"It's ok. What did you need from the store?" She asks – and yes, it feels as if we're pulling over.

"Antacid. Liquid. Strongest shit they've got – and nothing that tastes like fucking fruit."

"Anything else?"

(And that isn't even sarcasm…I know she's upset, but I just don't have what it takes to deal with it right now... but I don't think of anyone but myself, right?)

"No. Thanks." While Emma runs in, I step out of the cab to have another cigarette; I really don't care _what_ Beth would say about my chain-smoking right now…

_Do you really think that any judge is going to side with you over a stable, sane, normal couple who have the means to give Emma a really good life?_

…_you almost **killed **Chet Wheaton with that little 'stunt' of yours. You actually expect me to be grateful to you for that? Mom had to quit the first good job she had because of it – because of you…_ _You destroy everything you touch – you ruin everyone around you. You're poison, Sheldon. You always have been – and the saddest part is that I really believe you don't even realize it _I know who I am… what I am… demons and angels… I'm a fucking menace… _you're not the kind of man who could ever be a father. You don't know the first thing about taking care of someone else… you **terrorized **me… you don't even know what love is…_

…_no regrets…no apologizes… no going back… _

What kind of a fuckmook am I to think I could have it all?

…_If you were burned, it was only because you were already a lost cause, Jeff. You've been a lost cause – a liability for years – you're just too blind to see it… you brought it on yourself…_

Emma's back – she doesn't say anything, she just presses the bottle into my hands. It's open. I mutter my thanks and down as much of the thick, chalky, minty concoction as I can in one gulp before getting back into the taxi. I barely notice the rest of ride home – it's a blur of noise and Maalox. As soon as we arrive at our destination, I pay the driver and tell Emma I'm that going to go for a walk.

"You – ok?" she asks.

"No."

"Shelly –"

"Not now. Later. I promise." I walk away before she can say more. I can't deal with it now. I can't deal with _anything_. And of course I know I have to – the show must go on, right? I have to go into 'work' and deal with Marlina Eddas – I have to have a drink with Paula Basil later on tonight. I have to find out why Marcus was calling – and make sure Milo hasn't worried himself to death because I wasn't answering my phone last night…

Last night? Was it really just last night that I thought I could have it all? That all I had to do was take it – and it would be mine? "Christ, you really are the world's biggest fuckmook," I tell myself…

…_You don't even know what love is… you ruin everyone around you. You're poison, Sheldon, you always have been…_

…_Nothing worthwhile is ever easy… _

…_You don't even know what love is…_

…_You've been a lost cause – a liability for years – you're just too blind to see it…_

…_You're not the kind of man who could** ever **be a father. You don't know the first thing about taking care of someone else…_

… _You ruin everyone around you…_

…_You destroy everything you touch…_

…_You** terrorized** me… _

…_Do you really think that any judge is going to side with you over a stable, sane, normal couple who have the means to give Emma a really good life?_

…_You don't even know what love is…_

…………..I'm not sure how much time has passed when I finally become aware of the dull ache in my thighs. That whole being shot thing, I guess…

My life... I have, I believe, close to two dozen scars from bullet wounds scattered over my body. I've been knifed in the gut at least two or three times – I lost a kidney that way – and according to the white coats (CIA docs), I'm seriously on my way to pickling my liver. I have had every toe broken, a couple of them more than once. I have lived out of rat-holes and broken into palaces. I've slept with more women than I can honestly count.

And one of them sat there and watched while my eyes were drilled out of my skull. She watched them dripping down my face, she listened to me scream. This same woman I had wanted to run away with…

_See anything you like?_

Just thinking about her lips touching mine makes me want to hurl. Thinking about everything else we did… everything I_ wanted_ to do… but she never wanted me to take my time, she never wanted to – _enjoy_ being with me. I thought she just liked it down and dirty – and I'm not saying she wasn't talented, because my Christ, was she ever. But then again, most whores are. That's all she really was, you know, just a whore for her old man. I have to wonder if she wasn't as repulsed by me as I am now, at the memory of being with her.

…_Whatever happened down there, you brought it on yourself, Jeff. You always do… _

I saw too much, but not nearly enough… not that any of it makes any difference now…

…_You don't even know what love is…_

And yet, somewhere out there's an angel who _wants _me? (Maybe that's just because she doesn't know where I've been… She doesn't really know who I am, no one does.)

I find a place to sit – just a quiet bench. Spencer lays down at my feet – he's being quiet, too. Guess it must be contagious.

…_You've been a lost cause – a liability for years – you're just too blind to see it… _

…_You don't know the first thing about taking care of someone else…_

… _You ruin everyone around you…_

…_You destroy everything you touch…_

…_You don't even know what love is…_

…_You're poison, Sheldon…_

…_Do you really think that any judge is going to side with you over a stable, sane, normal couple who have the means to give Emma a really good life? _

I'm in a park, I think – that sounds like a swing squeaking, metal on metal… that brings back some rather unpleasant memories… it takes some effort, but I manage to shove those back into the little box in my head where I keep the unpleasant things… my own little Pandora's box. Only I don't really think there's any kind of hope hiding at the bottom of it. Guys like me don't get to believe in hope, remember?

There are trees over head – I can hear the wind rattling through the branches and the scent of brittle dry leaves is strong. I can hear leaves skittering on the pavement in front of me – behind they blow over the grass. There really is a difference in the sound… I hadn't noticed that before now. There are voices, too – but they all sound pretty distant. I'm just as glad. I do not feel like any kind of human contact.

(It does occur to me that I have no idea where I am, but I really just don't care.)

The world has stopped spinning, but everything inside hurts – feels like – like broken glass.

I'm out of cigarettes and I don't even remember finishing the pack… I guess I was smoking while I walked. I don't remember. I don't care. I just want to sit. I just want to stop thinking. Stop hurting.

I want to close my eyes. I want to lean my head back, look at the sky for a few minutes (I imagine it as overcast, but of course I have no way of knowing) and then just shut my eyes and enjoy the darkness… not that I'll ever enjoy the darkness again. It's all I have left – empty, alone… _cold_.

The wind's picking up – it's heavy with moisture and that smell that says 'snow'. But it's not the cold outside that bothers me. It's the cold inside I hate. I know it's what separates me from the one person I want to reach out to…

… _Maybe Mom was right – maybe you're just wired differently…_

I wonder if even an angel can touch the cold that's burning me up inside...

…_You don't even know what love is…_

Christ, why does it have to hurt so much?

I don't _want_ to give up – it's just that I know I don't have a chance, not with Beth – maybe not even with Emma. One way or another I'm going to screw it up – it's just who I am. The best I can hope for is not to hurt any of them in the process… maybe I really am just a selfish prick…

…_Do you really think that any judge is going to side with you over a stable, sane, normal couple who have the means to give Emma a really good life?_

…_You destroy everything you touch…_

…_You ruin everyone around you…_

… _You're not the kind of man who could ever be a father…_

…_You don't even know what love is…_

…_You've been a lost cause – a liability for years – you're just too blind to see it… _

…_You don't know the first thing about taking care of someone else…_

…_You destroy everything you touch…_

…_You ruin everyone around you…_

… _Maybe Mom was right – maybe you're just wired differently…_

…_You don't even know what love is…_

… _You're poison, Sheldon…._

…_You're not the kind of man who could **ever** be a father..._

…_You don't know the first thing about taking care of someone else…_

…_You don't even know what love is…_

"Hey there, Cowboy."

For half a frightened second I'm not sure if she's really here or her voice is just a voice in my head… but I can smell her perfume – and you know I'm not even really surprised she found me. She's my angel.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Free country."

"That's what they say anyway," Beth sits right next to me, close enough that our legs are touching (but – I don't make any move to – to do more than let my knees rub up against hers.) "You look like shit," she tells me.

"I feel like shit."

"You wanna tell me about it?"

"Not really."

She presses something into my hands – thermos? (It's pretty welcome – I think my fingers have gone completely numb – I can't really feel my nose either.) "What time is it?"

"Almost two thirty."

Crap…

"I talked to Marlina Eddas."

"Swell." My first real day on the job and I couldn't even put in half a day…

"She seemed pretty understanding," Beth tells me.

I just shrug and unscrew the thermos lid – hot chocolate. She really is an angel. _My_ angel.

…_You destroy everything you touch… …You ruin everyone around you. You're poison, Sheldon, you always have been…You don't even know what love is… _

_…Nothing worthwhile is ever easy… _

"So what did you tell Eddas," I ask – mostly I just want to silence the voices swirling around in my head.

"I didn't really know what to tell her – because Emma didn't know what to tell me."

"How is Em?"

"Pretty shaken up."

"You want some?" I ask, before taking a swig of the chocolate.

"You drink it – you look like you need it."

"I need something a fuck of a lot stronger than cocoa."

"So talk to me."

"I wouldn't even know where to start." The chocolate is warm and rich with just a hint of something that I can't identify – something good. I don't know how she makes it but – it is truly out of this world.

"The beginning is usually a good place," Beth suggests.

"Ange, I – " I have knives digging into my gut is what I have… I just shake my head. I really _don't_ know where to start. It's all muddled in my head. "I don't suppose you brought my Vicodin?"

Beth passes over the bottle. I really do not know what I've done to deserve her – and even if deep down I know it can't last, I do like having her here. I like having them both – I never thought I'd feel like this again. I never thought I'd get the chance…

"Emma said your sister turned up today," Beth prompts me gently after several long moments of silence.

"Yeah."

"She said the two of you argued."

"That's putting it mildly."

"So?"

"So – everything I always thought I knew isn't really true – at least not according to Alison."

I feel Beth's hand on my knee – and I just reach down and wrap my hand around hers. She doesn't pull away. She's there. She's warm. She holds me. I'm shaking – it's not the cold, at least not the cold outside.

"Sheldon – what happened?"

"According to Alison, I'm the reason our parents split up – and – my mother thought I was a serial killer in the making – she seriously thought – she'd find – animals buried in the back yard… " and it all just sort of tumbles out. Chet. Chet Sr. A dozen others just like them – I even tell her about standing over six guys in an alleyway with Milo and exactly why I came to his rescue. I tell her everything Alison had to say about my character… which let's face it, wasn't wholly inaccurate…. And Beth is still holding onto me. She won't let go, no matter what I say, she just won't let go… "Don't you get it, I could never – be – be whatever it is you think you want me to be," I just don't want to hurt her. "I can't be that person. It's not in me."

"Horse shit."

(The abruptness of her answer startles me a little… it isn't quite what I'd expected, even if I wasn't thinking far enough ahead to anticipate anything in particular…) "Beth –"

"Do you _really_ think that your sister is so unbiased that you have to listen to her accounting of what happened when you were and – swallow it whole?"

"She was there. She knows me better than anybody."

"I know you better than she does."

"You don't know me at all –"

"Did she ever hold you when you were afraid in the dark?"

"No one else has ever seen me afraid – of anything – except maybe Milo – but that's – that's different. That was – it was really fucked up – and you wanna hear something truly funny? When I was a kid, my biggest fear was the dark. Isn't that fucking irony? I was more afraid of being trapped alone in the dark than anything else. But here I am. Alone in the dark – and I'm stuck here."

"You're not alone - I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

………………………………………………………………………………

How can you see into my eyes like open doors  
Leading you down into my core  
Where I've become so numb  
Without a soul my spirit sleeping somewhere cold  
Until you find it there and lead it back home

(Wake me up)  
Wake me up inside  
(I can't wake up)  
Wake me up inside  
(Save me)  
Call my name and save me from the dark  
(Wake me up)  
Bid my blood to run  
(I can't wake up)  
Before I come undone  
(Save me)  
Save me from the nothing I've become

Now that I know what I'm without  
You can't just leave me  
Breathe into me and make me real  
Bring me to life

(Wake me up)  
Wake me up inside  
(I can't wake up!)  
Wake me up inside  
(Save me!)  
Call my name and save me from the dark  
(Wake me up)  
Bid my blood to run  
(I can't wake up)  
Before I come undone  
(Save me)  
Save me from the nothing I've become

Bring me to life  
(I've been living a lie, there's nothing inside)  
Bring me to life

Frozen inside without your touch, without your love  
darling, only you are the life among the dead

(All this time I can't believe I couldn't see  
Kept in the dark, but you were there in front of me)  
I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems  
Got to open my eyes to everything  
(Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul  
Don't let me die here...There must be something more)

Bring...me...to...life

(Wake me up)  
Wake me up inside  
(I can't wake up)  
Wake me up inside  
(Save me)  
Call my name and save me from the dark  
(Wake me up)  
Bid my blood to run  
(I can't wake up)  
Before I come undone  
(Save me)  
Save me from the nothing I've become

Bring me to Life  
(I've been living a lie there's nothing inside)  
Bring me to life

- Evanescence -


	31. A Little Faith

**Wow! **Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! I guess the last couple of chapters went over pretty well ;) I really appreciate hearing that y'all liked it.

**Sands-Agent:** yeah, Alison has really turned into the 'bad guy' – I didn't create her to be that way, but sometimes you've just gotta let the characters take their own direction. I still tend to think of her more as "damaged" than "bad" but she's still a definitely not her brother's favourite person right now.

…………………………………………………………………………….

**Chapter Thirty:**

_A Little Faith _

Beth can't be serious – she can't really believe that – that just because she held onto me, shaking in the dark, that she really knows _me_. You know who I am – you know what my life is – how can someone like her even begin to grasp the things I've done…? No regrets, no apologies – but no delusions, either.

"I know everything I need to – why can't you just believe that?"

"Because there's something you don't know – something – you should know," I tell her. "But – I don't suppose you have a cigarette on you, first?"

Beth just shakes her head – but I know she's smiling at me. I don't deserve her… not that I really expect to be able to keep her, but even in this brief moment, I know I don't deserve her. She passes over a cigarette – it's even lit. My angel. "Thanks."

"Any time."

I take a long drag off my smoke and I try to find the words I really want to say. I'm trying to figure out if there's any way to paint a picture of myself that isn't completely bad. (Yeah right, I think we're back to 'fat chance' again, there, kiddies. I am who I am, right?)

And you know what really bites? I know that if I just keep my mouth shut, she'll never know what I'm about to tell her. But, see,_ I'd_ know. I'd always wonder, if Beth knew what _really_ went down on the Day of the Dead, would she hate me…? And the only way I can find out is to tell her – and you know what I'm expecting her reaction to be. That shit happened right in her backyard – it affected people she cares about. Maybe she can – rationalize – the Chet Wheatons of the world because they're strangers – maybe she can be ok with my very real desire to put the hurtin' on this Neal guy because he hurt her. But what happened in Culiacan happened to people she knows and loves. And It happened because of me. So of course she's going to hate me – but I have to tell her because I just don't think I could live with her knowing… knowing that I'd kept something that big from her just so save my sorry ass. And I know there's no way to say it except to just say it – there is just no way to put a positive spin on my involvement (not that I'd ever admit that to Paula or the Company, but this isn't them, this my angel here.) "Beth – I – ah – I practically engineered that entire clusterfuck down in Culiacan."

"No," her voice is calm. "Armando Barillo did that."

De-Nile isn't just a river in Egypt… "No. I was behind most of it. I – I got your buddy El involved, got him to take out Marquez – only he was supposed to do it _after_ Marquez had taken out the president. Then – then the woman I was sleeping with was supposed to arrest Barillo – I supplied her with the tip off about where and when," Christ, was it really only a month ago? It seems like another life time – like somebody else's life – like I was just some kind of spectator… "The rest of the plan was that she and I would make off with the money Barillo was going to pay Marquez for killing the president and spend a few weeks on a beach somewhere drinking tequila and – " I finish with a shrug. I'm sure Beth is smart enough to figure it out.

And there is a whole lot of silence on her end of the bench. I may have stopped shaking, but inside – Christ, I can't breathe; it feels like there's this fist around throat. Everything is cold… but… I notice she hasn't pulled away… only I know better than to believe in hope. I've known all along that if she ever found out that I was behind what happened on the Day of the Dead, that it would be the end of – of whatever this was. "I really did believe the order to take out Corazon came from back home," I tell her softly, hoping she'll at least believe that much. "I'm not saying I'm any kind of good guy – but I wouldn't have gone that far just for a little unofficial payola. The whole thing would have gone down that much easier if I hadn't been trying to take out Corazon. Not that – it would have made a difference – really – in the end." Fuck – I think I'm burying myself deeper... "I just want you to know that I really didn't set out to – cause – that much shit. Not for any altruistic reasons or anything – but I had some guys who were supposed to intercept Marquez's boys before they ever got to Culiacan – it just – didn't happen. Nothing happened the way it was supposed to."

I listen. Still nothing. For a very long time. Finally, "So what went wrong?" Her tone is – neutral. Tepid. Not quite cold – but it's lost all the warmth I've come to love so much... Like I said, I know better than to believe in hope.

I take another long drag off my smoke – it's almost gone but I'm honestly afraid to ask her for another one – I'm afraid to ask her for anything. "Everything. I called in for back up but – I never got it. Then, I found out that the woman I was fucking, the one who was supposed to arrest Barillo and run off with me, was really his daughter. She'd been using me the whole time – only I didn't know it because the background I'd had run on her came up clean. And it wasn't an oversight – the CIA doesn't make mistakes like that."

"You said you were set up – I guess you weren't kidding."

"No," I tell her – Beth isn't pulling away physically, but I can still feel the walls that have gone up around her... or maybe it's my own walls I'm feeling, I can't quite tell. I just know that something is hanging there between us – something big – something – something separating me from the one person I don't want to hate me. "I really wasn't supposed to make it out of Mexico alive, but because I did, the boys back at Langley saying I knew all along who she was – that I was going to run off but never come back. That's their 'proof' that I was working with Barillo – their proof that I went rogue – turned traitor. Right now, Milo is the only guy in the CIA who believes me – and if any of the rest of them ever found out he was helping me –" I just shrug again. I'm Eddas' new little rat – because really, who would suspect a guy like Milo of anything underhanded anyway? If they ever do think there's a rat in the grain cellar, I'm the kind of guy they'd come looking for.

"And you still don't know who set you up or why?"

"Not exactly," I proceed to tell her about Bogotá – just the highlights, me and Suarez and a lot of somebody else's dough (if I hadn't cut her out of the picture, Suarez really would have made a lot of money down there... I ended up with a cool thirty mil that I stashed in a bank in Panama – why Panama? Why not? No matter how secure the Caiman Islands really are, you never want to put all your eggs into one basket.)

"You seem to have made a real habit out of stealing other people's money," Beth observes quietly.

"Just saving for retirement. The pension plan at work sucks."

She laughs – barely. "So – it really all just boils down to being about the money?"

"I guess when you put it that way, it doesn't really seem worth it," because all the money in the world won't bring my eyes back…

I hear – it's not really a laugh, but I can't say that Beth 'snorts' either because it's a much more ladylike a sound than that, but you probably get the idea.

"Just – out of curiosity – this woman you were – with –?"

"Dead." I want to tell her that Ajedrez sat there and watched while Guevara took out my eyes… but I don't know that it matters… she's dead and Beth has gone completely quiet on me. I wish I had her knack for knowing what people are thinking because I'd really like to know if – if this is really the end of whatever it was we thought we were doing… right. We didn't know what we were doing – and I had no business involving a woman like Beth in my life. But my Christ, it was nice to pretend… and maybe I really _did_ get the girl, just for a little while, anyway. No one can take away the memory of sitting up with her last night – or all those nights in Mexico when she held me in the dark. No one can take away that day in her garden when she cried on my shoulder. No one can take away the feeling of her arms around my waist this morning or just how damned good it felt to be happy. And no one can take away the memory little girl sitting in my lap telling me that she doesn't want me to be sad. It hurts… but maybe the Good Bard was onto something there to, that some things really are worth having, even for a short time.

After a couple more minutes of quiet, Beth asks me if that's the whole story. Her tone hasn't changed. But that's ok. It has to be ok. Take what you can get, when you can get it and then… move on. Ignore the pain and just move on.

"Cliff's Notes version of it anyway," I tell her.

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"Ok," Beth repeats and I feel her shrug.

"You really have to tell me what 'ok' means, here Ange," because I'm afraid to breathe. Could she really mean… _ok_? Or does she just mean ok, she's leaving, so long and thanks for all the fish… _yeah, right, fuckmook, what do you **really** think 'ok' means?_

"It means ok. It means I appreciate your honesty – probably a lot more than you realize."

And right about here is where I'm expecting (hoping?) to hear her say something like 'maybe we can still be friends' – but you know, I'd take it. I'd take it and be happy because it would mean I wouldn't lose them completely. I really have figured out that something is better than nothing… but Beth isn't done yet…

"Ok means I'll always be here – if you_ really_ want me," (and it doesn't sound like she's having a real easy time breathing over there, either.)

"How?" _How is that possible…_ "How can you be ok what I just told you – with _everything _I've told you?" What do I really have to tell her to scare her off?

"Because I know you didn't start the war between Corazon and Barillo. I know you didn't hire Marquez. I get it that you took advantage of the situation – but it was there already, _you_ didn't cause it. What happened in Culiacan would have happened with or without you – in fact, it might have been worse without you, because in a warped sort of way you probably saved Corazon's life, even if that wasn't your intent – so don't you dare go taking credit for it," (is she really smiling there?) "But most of all, I know that no matter what anyone thinks they have as proof, you were _never_ working with Amrando Barillo, even if you were – involved – with a woman who happened to be his daughter. I believe that you were set up, Sheldon – and I don't really care that you were planning to steal Barillo's money and go drink tequila on the beach. Better that than anything he would have done with it. And – I know the mariachi just well enough to know you didn't have to twist his arm to get to go after Marquez. Some people just – _need_ – revenge. I only hope he's really one of them," that last is said very softly.

"How well do you know him?" I ask – yeah, my voice is kinda quiet there, too. I know it shouldn't be my topmost concern – it shouldn't be a concern at all. I really don't even know _why_ it bugs me that she knows the mariachi… other than he's tall, dark, handsome, oh yeah, and a God damned living legend. No, there's _nothing_ threatening about any of that, even when you add onto it the fact that that, guitar case full of guns aside, El's probably a real decent sorta guy – nothing like me.

She almost laughs, "One of my neighbours directed El to my door about six months ago – he needed a doctor who wouldn't ask questions."

"That's it?"

"What else would there be?"

"But – you know about him and Marquez –?"

"He found my ability to 'read him like a book' just as disconcerting as you do – besides the story about him and Marquez isn't exactly uncommon knowledge, there, Cowboy –"

"That little swindler," I mutter aloud, without really meaning to… No wonder Belini only wanted ten thousand – he had to know that if I'd ever found out he sold me something that 'wasn't exactly uncommon knowledge,' I _would_ have ripped that patch off his face and… and he's dead, it doesn't matter. But it still ticks me right the fuck off.

However… "How can you be so sure I'm telling the truth?" I ask Beth – because I sure would like to know why she's convinced I wasn't working with Barillo or Marquez, when I can't even convince Paula I didn't go rogue. Paula worked with me – fucking _fucked_ with me – for over a year. I know she's pissed about China, but I only left her bleeding like that to go finish the job and somewhere in that twisted little brain of hers, she's got to know that. Paula Basil seen that kinds of shit I do – and_ don't_ do. I may not have morals, but I _do_ have standards and I have _never_ been a traitor – and I don't know what I have to say to convince her that I'm not one now. (And I guess I shouldn't care – but I do. It pisses me off that she thinks I'd go over to the other side for fucking twenty million pesos – do you really know what that converts to in dollars? Not much, let me tell you.)

"If I tried to explain it, you wouldn't understand," Beth tells me quietly. "It goes back to gut feelings and hocus pocus."

I just smile – I do take a strangely perverse little bit of pleasure in knowing she set El's nerves on edge, too. And you know – I think I even hope he made it out of there in one piece… not that I ever want to – see – him again. I realize that Beth's hand really is still in mine. She slides her fingers so that they're interlaced with mine.

"I'll make you a deal, Cowboy," she tells me – her voice is still on the quiet side.

"What kind of a deal?"

"If you can just take this one day at a time – just take it as it comes and stop trying to convince yourself that I'm going to leave at every little – bump in the road – I'll tell Cicily that we're staying."

"Bump in the road, Darlin'?"

"Sheldon, what happened in Culiacan happened before I even knew you – and it would have happened with or without you anyway. What do you want me to do – get angry at something that I had no control over? Leave you for something – something that – " she stops and takes a breath. "I'm not leaving, not unless you really, _really_ don't want me around. If that's the case we'll pack up and go – but – believe me, once I go, I'm gone."

Talk about a knife in the gut… "You know I don't want you to leave."

"Than stop _expecting_ me to. Let me be here for you. I can't help with the big stuff because most of it is stuff I don't know anything about, but I _can _be there when you need someone to talk to – someone to just be there when you don't want to talk but don't want to be alone either. I'll never judge you or what you do – I especially won't judge what you've already done. All you have to do is have a little faith in me. And I'm scared too, Sheldon, I really am. Remember, you had to talk me into believing that staying was as easy as not getting on a plane. You got me to_ believe_ you wanted me, but you keep expecting me to leave – or did you really think I didn't notice – and that it wasn't really tearing me up to know you don't believe I'll really be here no matter what?"

"I guess I was so – absorbed – in what's going on in my own head that I didn't think about it," I tell her. And I think I'm shaking all over again… "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"What – what exactly do you – why me? I swear, I drink, I smoke, I sleep with a loaded pistol under my pillow. I have the CIA out to hang me. What sane woman would want _anything_ to do with me?"

"I could ask you the same thing – because maybe I don't drink or smoke or swear as much as you do – but I'm no picnic to be around and I know it. So I could just as easily ask you what you could possibly see in me –"

"But I asked first. Besides my answer is the easy one: you're an angel." _My angel_.

"I'm no angel."

"You know I'm never going to believe that."

She laughs, just a little. "I don't really have an answer for you, but I do hope you don't _honestly_ believe I tell my deepest, darkest secrets to every wounded cowboy I find throwing up in my flowerbed, or that I bear my – my everything – to every handsome stranger who collapses in my garden."

I manage a smile, "And just how many of those have there been, Darlin'?"

"Just one. So far."

I know she's teasing me. Still… "Are you really sure you're ready to tell Cicily about staying?" Because somehow that just makes it so much more real… and real is really scary.

"I know it's bugging you that I didn't want to tell her, fueling your doubt about my sticking around –"

"It isn't helping – but – "

"No buts, Cowboy. Do we have a deal or not?"

"I'm just not sure I know _how_ to have faith in anything – even though I want to." And I really do want to – I want_ her_. I want her more than I've wanted anything in – in as long as I can remember.

"I got you to trust me, didn't I?"

I just laugh, "You didn't give me much of a choice there, Ange."

"It was always your choice."

"I – I never thought I would ever – have anything," I admit. It's not easy to do, I'm not real used to – to bearing my everything as she put it – to anyone. "You were right about Holly. I never carried any kind of torch for her – but – she was the first woman I really loved – and – that haunted me for a long time because, see, even knowing it wouldn't last, it just about killed me to have her walk out on me the way she did."

"Why were you so sure it wouldn't last?" Her tone is – gentle. Warm. I realize that those walls between us don't seem to be so thick any more…

"She never knew me." _Not like you do…_ Christ is it _really_ possible…

"So is that a yes or a no?"

"Do you really believe that this – that we – have a chance?"

"We've gotten over a couple pretty big hurdles already, haven't we?"

I really can't argue with that – and I really don't want to lose her…

"All I'm asking you to do is take it one day at a time. Stop trying to convince yourself that it won't work out and just have a little faith in me. You really will wake up one morning and realize that I'm _still_ next to you – because that's where I really want to be."

"You make that sound _awfully _darned easy. Almost – too easy."

"It's just as easy as not getting on a plane."

I can't help but chuckle, "I guess we have ourselves an accord," I smile over at her.

Beth just laughs – and – my Christ, what a sweet sound. I don't know if it's the sound of her laugh that does something to me, or what – but I find myself brushing my lips against her hand in an extremely uncharacteristic public display of affection…

Beth runs her hand along my cheek – and although I'm not real sure it's meant as an invitation, I use it as one anyway, finding her lips with mine… and it is_ very_ nice… and I really don't care who sees. (Which is both sloppy and stupid, I know, but…but there it is.)

"Come on, Cowboy," Beth says many long (amazing) moments later, "Let's get out of the cold – it looks like it's going to start snowing any second and you've got to be frozen through by now."

I can't feel my nose… but I don't feel cold… she probably does, thought (when she leaned in, I could tell that all Beth had on was some kind of shawl over a sweater; I don't even know if she and Cicily have winter coats…) "How far are we from the condo, anyway?" I ask.

"Not too far – but I'm a country girl, and one thing I've learned about you city-folk – you measure distance a whole lot different than we do," her smile is audible.

"Should I call for a cab?"

"We could be back to the condo by the time one gets here – unless – you're not up to more walking?"

"I'm fine. And – thank you. Again."

"For?"

"Giving me something to believe in."

"De nada, Cowboy."

"No," I shake my head, "It's _every_thing." _You're everything…_

She just stands and hauls me to my feet. Beth places my hand on her elbow and we walk… and she doesn't press me for any kind of conversation, but – I like this. I feel comfortable walking next to her. I think back to the way she took care of me back in Mexico, and I honestly don't get it. I was nothing to her – just a stranger throwing up in her flowers, but she took me in, cleaned my wounds, dug a couple of bullets out of my hide – and – she got to me. She found the places inside I'd forgotten existed… and she's still here. I told her about the mess I made in Culiacan – and she's still here. She knows who I am just about as well as anybody I've ever met – and she's _still_ here. She could have hurt me in dozen different ways… but… she didn't. And… she's still here… and as if she really can read my mind, I feel her pull just a little closer to me, hang on just a little bit tighter and I smile down at her for a moment.

And my cell rings. I contemplate not answering – but if it's Milo, I know he'll freak out. I fish it out of my pocket, one handed, and manage to get it to my ear without letting go of the angle walking next to me. "Yeah, hello."

"It's never a good idea to not answer your phone, kid," says Marcus Lewin on the other end.

I grin – his tone is scathing. "Sorry – I took the night off."

"Real agents don't take time off."

"Maybe that means I'm not a real agent any more."

Marcus just scoffs.

"So what can I do for you?" I inquire. This outghta be interesting, if nothing else…

"Did I ever mention my little girl to you?"

"Um – that would be a nega-torry, there, good buddy," I give him my very best cheesy trucker accent.

"Don't get cute. Her name's Lucy –"

"Lucy Lewin?" Christ. Poor kid.

"It was her mother's idea. Look – I'd like you to have lunch with her. Tomorrow. It's all set up."

"Ok, I think there's a few pieces of the toy set I'm missing here – because I k_now_ you're not setting me up on a date."

"In your dreams, kid. She's a criminal attorney – and a damned good one, too. That's not just me talking as a father –"

"Marcus – I appreciate the – " gesture? Sentiment? The way you're trying to stick your nose into my fucking business? Hmmmm….

"I know you think you've got it all sewn up – but you can't trust the DOJ. They don't hand out 'Get out of Jail Free' cards to guys like you and me, they hang us out to dry with our dicks flapping in the wind, and you know it."

"So how's the pool – you put that money down for me yet?" I ask in an intentionally off-handed sort of way. I don't think I've ever known Marcus to sound this serious about anything. I don't like it – or the implications. (That reminds me – I still have to deal with Paula and all I _really _want to do is just spend the rest of the night curled up with Beth on the sofa.)

"Jeff – I'm _not_ screwing around. You're up to your eyeballs in – " his voice actually fucking catches. "Sorry, kid."

"No sweat. I'm getting used to the stupid shit people say without meaning to." Which is at least partially true. "So I take it word has gotten round the office about my little 'accident'?"

"Yeah, word got around – but it's still mostly rumour."

Swell.

"Look – you're in some real deep kimchee, here, Kid. Eddas is playing you – "

"What do you know?"

"Just meet with Lucy – tomorrow – noon – Olde Towne Bistro."

"Um – exactly how am I supposed to recognize her?"

"She'll recognize you."

"So what have you told her about me?" I ask – yeah, curiosity… (curiosity may have killed the cat – but satisfaction brought him back.)

"Enough that no matter how hard you try to get her in the sack, you won't have to worry about me hunting you down and cutting off your balls."

"Right." Gotta love a guy who doesn't fart around…

"You'll be there," and it isn't a question, either.

"If I don't you'll never stop hounding me."

"You got that right."

"Ten four and out," I hang up – and – I wonder if he really might know something I don't know. I mean, this is _Marcus_ we're talking about, here. He taught me half the shit I know. But Milo trusts Eddas. And – and how can I not trust Milo after all this? Too damned much to think about.

"Everything ok?" Beth asks.

"No – nothing's ok. But that's ok, it's just the status quo," I quip back without really thinking about what I'm saying.

"Nothing?"

Hurt – or just teasing? I'm not real sure. I soften my tone, "Maybe a couple of things are ok." I really don't know what I've done to deserve this – to deserve her, but – but my Christ, I'll take it anyway.

………………………………………………………………….………..

Don't ever let me take you for granted

You've got your finger on the pulse of my soul

Let me place a kiss in the small of your back

Love and protect you from the evils of this world

Oh baby don't ever leave me stranded

Whoever said that the streets were paved with gold

Well I'm afraid that we're all sadly mistaken

There's nothing here 'til you have someone to hold

I love you with all the joy of living

'Til the lights go down in New York City

It's a special love affair

And there's magic in the air

You gotta shake me down

Bring me 'round to my senses

'Til I'm lost and found

And surround me with your senses

If love wasn't here would we reinvent it?

Oh take me down to the very root of my soul

Oh baby say it as if you really mean it

And feel the passion work it's way up through your skin

I love you with all the joy of living

'Til the lights go down in New York City

It's a special love affair

And there's magic in the air

You gotta shake me down

Bring me 'round to my senses

'Til I'm lost and found

And surround me with your senses

Let me take you by the hand

And we can go and find a brand new world

Starlight - starbright

Let me take you by the hand

And lead you to a safe place in this world

-Erasure-

……………………………………………………………..……………………………..

_Erasure is on of my favourite groups to listen to while writing so I was glad to find one of their songs to include. It's really not something Sands would ever listen to – it's done to a modern disco beat. But it's the sort of thing Milo would have lying around that Beth might enjoy, if she hadn't heard it already, anyway… and the line about New York made me think of Sands right away. _

_And yes, I do believe Sands is finally ready to believe... _

………………………………………………………………………………….

**Additonal "casting"**

_Lucile "Lucy" Lewin_ ……………**Naomi Watts** (lots of stuff, including _the Ring_ and it's sequel.)

I've been doing some thinking and for the sake of visuals here's some of the additional "casting" I've come up with – if things go according to plan (I really do have to end this sooner or later) we'll at least see Patrick in here briefly, but Ithought I'd go ahead and share my vision of Milo's beau with the rest of you even if he never pops up;)

_Patrick Flanagan_ …………………**Cary Elwes** (first thing I saw him in was _Princess Bride_… but more recently, Elwes has been in _Saw_, and _Ella Enchanted_)

And…

The "girls" Beth used to perform with

_Donna Shane_ …………………………………**Judi Dench** (_Chocolat_. She's has been in lot's other movies, but her role as Armande in _Chocolat_ is probably my fave.)

_Lesley Allan_………………………… **Mary-Louise Parker** (recurring guest star on _West Wing_ for a couple of seasons, also was in the movie _Red Dragon_)

_Robin Shane (Donna's granddaughter)_……………… **Maggie Gyllenhaal** (_Mona Lisa Smile, the Secretary_)

And lastly, the reference to _thirty million in a bank in Panama _was my husband's idea. It's a reference to the movie _Blow_.

At the very end, I'll list every Depp movie/connection referenced.


	32. Bridges

Just a quiet little chapter… but I think after the last couple even Sands needs a breather!

**Chapter Thirty One **

_Bridges… _

We're barely in the door when Cicily comes bounding down the stairs and straight into me – and I am very aware of how hard Beth is trying not to laugh. I'm not even sure what she finds so amusing. I mean, I know how I'd feel if _my_ kid was hugging a man packing as much heat as I happen to be packing, a man with my general temperament and oh so charming personality. (Hey, at least I can admit it, I _am_ an asshole.)

I'm also aware that my kid is nowhere around.

"Emma's up in her room listening to music," Cicily supplies the answer to my unasked question… like mother like daughter…

(Just the same, it's good to be back 'home' – although that thought brings a whole slew of other thoughts that I'm not quite ready to have yet. After all, I've only got the use of this place until the New Year and it is a wee bit small for the number of bodies that are currently packed into it, especially when you consider my daughter's menagerie. And… eventually I'd like to share a bed with Beth, which isn't likely to happen here, given our current sleeping arrangements. But that's another one of those thoughts I'm not real ready to have yet. Now, I don't want you to misunderstand. I want to make love to every inch of her body – I want to fill every hurt little place inside her with pleasure. I want to seduce her into ever forgetting she's ever known the touch of any other man. But… but I don't want to push her into something she's not ready for, either. I have no idea how much damage this Neal guy really did to her, and – there is something very – _good_ – about just what we're doing. I like knowing she's sleeping safe and sound just above me. I truly _loved_ every minute of this morning, just having coffee together – just – being normal. Being happy. I'm not going to admit it too loudly, but I'm more than just a little bit glad she's stubborn enough not to balk at my balking and that she didn't run away when I pushed her to. I don't know _why_ she's still here – but – she is.)

I finally manage to get my boots off and wiggle my toes, just to make sure I still can – I honestly stopped being able to feel my feet a while ago – but then I stopped noticing that I couldn't feel them.

"You ok?" Beth asks me.

"Just – joints ache a little in the cold, that's all," I tell her. Near as I can figure, everything still moves just the way it's supposed to. I'm not quite ready to tell her _why_ the joints in my toes ache when it gets cold or just before it rains (you know, that whole having every toe broken thing), but I know she's seen my feet and has to have some kind of clue that something happened and it wasn't pleasant. Milo really doesn't know how to set a broken bone for shit – although it probably didn't help that I had all ten toes broken at more or less the same time (same 'session' anyway) and he really didn't have anything to use to bind them up when I got back to him.

I feel Beth's hand on my arm, drawing me back to the present, drawing me into her warmth.

"And yet you say you love winter," she teases me gently. I still think she has a clue where my mind was, though; it's the way she's touching my arm that gives her away. It reminds me of the way she held onto me that first time, when we were talking about the real extent of the damage to my – face. I feel her grip tighten, just a little, and I smile over at her. Mon Ange. (I think might even get used to being read 'like an open book' – although it amuses me to think of her doing it to that damned mariachi. What I wouldn't have given to be a fly on _that_ wall, just to watch him squirm under her scrutiny… ) "What can I say – this is my favourite time of year," I shrug.

"I hope it snows soon," Cicily tells me, "I only got to see snow once before – it never snowed in Alabama."

"Well you're probably going to see a lot of it here," I tell her. I'm glad she's stopped tip-toeing around the subject of 'seeing' with me… although the subject of Alabama brings up another question…

I listen a minute while Cicily and Spencer head into the other room – it sounds like they're playing. I turn to Beth, "Can I ask you something?" I say quietly.

"Cicily barely remembers her father," she tells me, just as quietly. (Yes, that is what I was going to ask – she really is just plain freaky some times.) "What little she does remember isn't good. The fights – the – abuse. He left me so black and blue that most of the time I was ashamed to leave the house. Maybe that was point, I don't know."

I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close. "I really can fix it for you," I say _very _quietly, almost right into her ear… I love having her against me like this. She's so warm – so – so fucking amazing. "Widows get benefits, and you know I don't want you to ever have to deal with him again."

"I know. Once upon a time I really might have let you to fix it your way," Beth admits. "But – that was a long time ago. I'm over that part – I just want my life."

"And it _really_ doesn't bother you that I could put a bullet in this guy's skull without a second thought? It doesn't bug you, even a little, that sooner or later some fuckmook is going to get in my way and end up dead because of it?"

"I can't explain it, Cowboy. All I can tell you is that you are who you are and I can live with that. I can live with you."

"I'm really not a nice guy – but I _can_ promise you that I'll **_never_ **do what he did. I will never – _ever_ – raise a hand to you – or Cicily. A lot of what I told you my sister said about me _is_ true – but I don't get my kicks beating up on kids – or animals – and I've never lain a hand on someone I was involved with."

"Sheldon – I trust you."

"How can you be so sure?" I ask – because the conviction in her voice right then – it really was enough to make even me believe.

"Because I feel safe around you. Comfortable. And just like you said I might not get it that for you feeling 'normal' is just this really great feeling – well for me it's feeling comfortable, especially around a man."

"You started off a little twitchy around me."

"You started off being a bit of an ass."

I know she's teasing – but it still stings. I_ really _could have hurt her that day and I know it. I remember _wanting_ to hurt her, just to prove that even wounded – blinded – I could still hurt someone. I remember being very pleased with myself when I knew she was scared, that I'd put her on the defensive. And yet – she's been nothing but good to me…

"Hey – Cowboy – it's ok. I know you were hurting – I knew it then. I knew you were frightened," she says that last very, very gently, like she knows I really don't admit to fear real well… but…

"I was more afraid than I'd ever been in my life," I manage to pry the words out – it's not easy, but it's something I want her to hear. "I've been in some pretty unpleasant places – but – I'd never been left feeling so helpless – so – vulnerable and uncertain. My own instincts let me down – and that was – it was worse than being betrayed by someone I thought I could trust."

"You really did trust her, didn't you?" And there is truly nothing accusatory or angry in her tone – it's just a question.

"Yes," _but not like I trust you…_ "I never let her in – it was never supposed to be 'happily ever after' – just a couple of months of – of fucking on a beach. But it's really not _that_ betrayal that gets me. It's not even her sitting over me, fucking watching while Guevara – " I just shake my head because some words just refuse to come out. "What bothers me is that I _really_ thought I knew how to read people. I though I had a handle on the whole situation. I've never been so wrong about anything and – and it cost me more than any other mistake I've ever made." I lost my sight. My**_ eyes_**. I lost my confidence in myself. "Sometimes, when I know I'm standing in front of a mirror, I feel like I can almost see myself in it. I _see_ what they did to me – the kind of freak they turned me into. I still – get sick. I don't think the nightmares will ever go away. And I will never understand how you can look at me the way you do – how you can get so fucking close to me without – without hurling. Even Milo recoiled the first time he saw my face – and – my Christ I _know_ the kinds of shit he's seen."

Beth doesn't say anything. She doesn't lie to me by saying that it'll all be 'ok,' she just holds me close and I remember when I was fevered – scared out of my mind – she promised me that she wouldn't leave me alone in the dark. And here she is, still holding me in a way that no one else ever has.

"_No one_ has ever sat with me the way you did," I tell her. "The closest was – was me and Milo in a cold damp cell in Eastern Europe, but that was two guys trying to get through – just trying to – to make it out of Hell alive. We needed each other. _You_ had no reason to help me – no reason to care. And I really was an ass."

"You have your moments," Beth agrees; I know she's smiling and I really can't help but smile back. "But you're really not such a bad guy – but ah – I promise not to let your secret out."

I just laugh, "I don't think anyone would believe you anyway."

Beth chuckles with me; I run my fingers along her cheek and brush a stray lock of hair out of her face – she must be so beautiful with those green eyes and that blond hair. What I wouldn't give to be able to see her smile.

"You – should really go talk to Emma," Beth tells me – hesitantly? Does she know how close I am to kissing her… probably. But Cicily is just in the next room… and I really do need to talk to Em about what happened earlier. I lean in and brush my lips against Beth's cheek, very lightly. I really could make love to every inch of her right here and now… but there is something to be said for anticipation…

…Although it's not on loud enough to make me want to shoot something, I can hear Emma's music well before I get to her door. It's that same CD she was listening to at my sister's (the one that's recognizable as music, that is.) I feel for the door – closed. No real shocker there. So, I knock.

Nothing.

I knock again.

More nothing.

"I'm not going away, you know," I say loud enough to be heard over the music. "I'm a very patient man, I'll wait here all night if I have to."

"Yeah right," Emma replies – the music's volume decreases. "The day you turn into a patient man is the day a guy Harrison nominates _me _for prom queen."

Like father like daughter… "So – can I come in?" I ask – now that the music is lower, I can hear what sounds like the light clacking of computer keys – so she's doing something on that laptop of hers.

"Free country."

Biting back an acerbic comment that would likely get me into trouble anyway, I go in and make my way to her bed. No sooner is my ass parked, than a cat jumps into my lap insisting that I pay attention to it; I think it's Iggy. Whichever one it is, it starts to purr. It's so fucking nice to be loved. (_Sarcasm_…)

In the corner, Mr. Bird rustles its feathers at me and lets out a deep throaty squawk. I still haven't figured out if it likes me or finds me as irritating as I find it – but as long as it doesn't start dive bombing my head, I won't start with the target practice. (Emma has told me that Mr. Bird – whose name is Erasmus, if you can believe that – can't actually fly. Bum wing. Know what else she told me? The ravens in the Tower of London are reputed to live as long as fifty years – and he is a raven, not a crow. According to my little muffin, Mr. Erasmus is right around two feet tall – I declined to verify that information personally. I just don't want to get that close to it. She's had it for five years – and some vet told her it was probably less than two when she found it – isn't that just swell? That damned bird will probably outlive me. Oh yeah – and it spends very little time actually_ in_ it's cage – but Em does assure me that it's preferred hang out is a perch she mounted to the top… she also assures me that it's completely tame and very friendly. Like I said, I have yet to get that close to it and as long as it doesn't get any bright ideas, I won't start target practice.)

"So what are you working on?" I inquire of my darling little offspring – you know the one that seems content to just ignore me right now.

"Talking to someone – online. I'm – assuming that's ok with you?" Her tone is down right sardonic.

"I guess that depends on what you're saying," I try to keep everything in check – you know, paranoia, temper, general surly-ness…

"Well I'm not going to tell Jay that my father is a spy, if that's what you're asking."

"Jay?" That sounds like a boy's name… unless it's some hip slang for Jenny or – or – Jane – or – hmmm… what other girl names start with 'J'? Jessica, Juanita, Jasmine…? Joon?

"Jay's my best friend."

"Ah." And still no pronoun – I wonder if she's doing that on purpose? "Where does this Jay live?"

"New York."

"Ah."

"Yeah – ah," Emma mimics me; I hear her go back to typing.

"So – what _are _you two talking about?"

"Just stuff."

Stuff. Right. "I don't suppose you could make a couple of minutes to talk to your old man, here?" I ask her.

"I was just saying good bye," Emma tells in a dry tone – I hear a little more typing – then she it feels like she turns back in my direction. "So?"

"So – look – about earlier –"

"Why don't you just cut the small talk and tell me if you're shipping me off to the Dawsons or not?"

Anger? Sure sounds like it… "Well – I suppose that depends on what you really want," I begin tentatively. Because – I mean, she is fifteen that should be old enough to make up her mind if she wants to live with an asshole like me – or assholes like Holly's folks. Not that I want her to leave and go live with them, but… well, she's fifteen. She's really not a kid so I guess I should at least ask…

"_Nothing_ is up to me – it never has been – and it probably never will be. So why don't you just tell me what _you've_ decided would be 'best.'"

Hmmm… why do I get the feeling this hostility is about a whole lot more than just Holly's parents… ? "Em – if you want to live with your mother's parents –"

"Why would I want to live with them," she cuts me off. "I don't even_ know_ them."

"You don't exactly know me either," it's taking everything I have to stay calm here…

"So that's your decision? You don't want me any more?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just pointing out the facts." _Just the facts, Ma'am, just the facts… _Christ, I need a cigarette – and I haven't even been up here five minutes.

"Well the _fact_ is that they showed up for the first time when I was twelve and Mom was in the hospital. I didn't even know I had grandparents – at least not _those _grandparents."

"Um – think you could elaborate?" Because she sure as Hell didn't have any contact with _my_ parents…

"When we lived in Millhaven – in Arkansas – there was this older couple who lived kitty corner to us – behind and over. I grew up calling them Grandma Jo and Grandpa Ern._ They're_ my 'grandparents' – not that snooty couple from Yuppy-ville who showed up out of nowhere and made Mom freak. I didn't see Barbie and Ken again until her funeral when they came in and tried to wreck everything by taking over. So – if you_ really_ want to ship me off to my grandparents – they live in fucking Arkansas. Last name's Plummer – and they're really great people. Even _you_ might like them."

Well I guess that settles that, "I thought we had a discussion about language," I tell her in what I hope is a stern paternal voice. (I don't think I'm doing such a great job of it.)

I hear what I think is a snort of laughter, "I'll work on it. But you have to work on it too – you're a terrible example."

Well at least she doesn't sound quite so pissed at me. I feel the bed moving as Emma re-arranges herself. It doesn't seem so much as if she's pulling away so much as just getting comfortable, which I'm hoping is a good sign. (I swear, Beth makes this parent thing seem a whole lot fucking easier than it really is.) "I don't suppose you have any idea what you're mother's beef was with her folks," I ask, because the last I heard they were at least speaking – not that Holly ever told me anything about her life, just Emma's.

"No idea – but it sounded more like it was their beef with her. When Jim couldn't calm her down, he just took me home – the last I heard was them screaming at Mom about being reckless and irresponsible. She pretty much refused to talk to me about them – even – you know – when things got bad – with her health."

"Jim? The nudist?"

"Yes, Shelly, Jim the nudist. They'd already split up by then – but – he was always around to help – he's a good guy," (I really don't like her tone, all warm and fuzzy like.) "He might know what the issue was – if it really matters."

"So – um – now that we've got that cleared up – there was something you wanted to talk to me about?" Because no, I don't want to discuss Holly's ex boyfriend with my daughter.

"I know it's none of my business – but – you and Beth –?"

"It's your business because it affects you," I tell her, hoping she'll believe me. (What did she really think, that because I have Beth and Cicily in my life now, I was just going to ship her off to live with someone else?)

"I was just wondering – I mean – this is really a permanent sort of thing, right?"

"I – I don't honestly know if anything is ever permanent, there kiddo. But she says she plans to stick around – and I really dig having her here." And I wonder just how big of a problem this really is going to be…

"Do you love her?"

Oh Christ. "I – don't know."

"How can you not know? Either you love someone or you don't."

"Not everything is that black and white, Em." _…you don't even know what love is… _I wonder if that's true…

"So can I ask you something about you and Mom?"

I just nod. What else can I do – say 'no'?

"Why'd you two _really_ break up?"

Break up? Well there's an understatement… "Your mother wanted something I couldn't give her. So – we split up." Although as far as I'm concerned, she did the splitting…but I guess it's a moot point.

"What did she want?"

"I – I don't know exactly. I just know she wanted a different life than I did – and I guess to be fair, I didn't want the kind of life she wanted either." And why didn't Holly ever explain any of this…

"But – if you loved her – and I know she loved you – why wasn't that enough? Why couldn't the two of you just – compromise or something?"

"I am not exactly a compromising individual – and frankly, neither was your mother."

"What about Beth – would you compromise for _her_?"

And here I thought I'd already dealt with the fucking Spanish Inquisition… I count to ten. It doesn't work. So let's just try the direct approach: "I don't know whatyou want to hear from me, Em – so if you could maybe just give me some kind of clue what this is really all about, that would just be awfully swell." (And I suppose I don't mean for my tone to be quite so scathing, but fuck me, I'm lost here. I can't address the issue if I don't know what it is – and I won't know what it is unless she tells me...)

"I know that no matter what Mom would still be – gone," Emma's voice catches (it was kinda shaky to begin with, there), "But – what makes Beth so special when Mom wasn't?"

"What?" it's not that I don't understand the question, it's just that – that I'd like to know where the fuck it came from. "Em – your mother – Christ, she just knocked me right over, just by walking into the room. I spent nine months working up enough nerve to ask her out – and I was still pretty shocked when she said yes."

"So – what happened?"

"I took her to dinner and a play – something by Oscar Wilde, I think." (We didn't quite see the whole thing, not that I have any intention of telling my little girl that on our first date, her mother and I spent the entire second half of the play in a closet in the basement of the theatre…)

"No – I mean – _what_ happened?"

Ah. The proverbial what. "We went out for a few months – it was the end of my last semester at Virginia State. She was wrapping up her bachelor's in Fine Art – I think she had a couple more classes to take before she graduated, then she was talking about going to Europe for a year or two. I don't suppose she ever told you _any_ of this?"

"No."

Terrific. "We decided to spend the summer together in the Ozarks – well, I think _she_ decided and I went along with it. I'm not exactly into nature the way your mother was."

"I never would have guessed."

I just smile, "At the end of the summer we – we just broke up and went our separate ways. Mine was into the CIA. I have no idea if your mother really went to Europe or not, but I always assumed she did. I honestly didn't think about her again until the day she called me, out of the blue, four years later, to tell me I was a father." And I suppose that maybe I could have said that just a _wee_ bit more gently…

"Were we really that easy to forget?" Emma sounds – hmmm. Yeah. Hurt.

"First off, there was no 'we' – I didn't know she was pregnant, remember? And secondly – secondly forgetting about her was easier than trying to figure out what really went wrong." Because maybe I knew all along that Holly wasn't the type of girl who would want to be married to a spy. Maybe that's why I waited until the end of that summer to tell her what my plans really were even though she was completely up front with me about hers.

"Would it have made any difference to either of you if she'd told you she was pregnant?"

Either of us? Near as I could tell, Holly held all the cards on that deal… "I really don't know."

"You really don't know anything, do you?"

"Never said I did."

"I just want you to level with me, Shelly – that's all."

"About?" Because as near as I can figure, I have been leveling with her…

I hear – a long sigh – movement – maybe a shrug. "I don't know. I'm just trying to figure out – everything. I don't even know where to start any more. I know Mom loved you – I could hear it in her voice, see it on her face – but I could never get her to really talk about you, not the way I wanted her to. She just said that – that she didn't know where my father was, but that I shouldn't ever think he didn't love me."

"Well she was right about that."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I do."

And I hear – a sniffle? I slide back so that I'm sitting next to Emma – she leans over into me and I drape my arm around her shoulders and she just holds onto me for a couple of minutes before speaking again (and I really don't know what I'm doing, but it seems to be the right thing for a change.)

"I ah – I was six or seven the first time I asked Mom about you – the first time I realized that I didn't seem to have a father at all. I mean – I had friends who had 'weekend dads,' friends whose parents were divorced or who had never been married – at least not to each other. I had a few friends whose fathers never came around – but – I was the only one who didn't know _anything_ at all about my father, not even his name."

"What did she tell you?" Although I'm almost afraid of the answer…

"Mom dug out an old photo of you and put it in a frame for me. She told me that you guys had had a fling – and I was the end result, but that she never regretted having me, and that even if you weren't around, she knew you loved me. She never told me she was sending you letters and pictures, though, not until – until she needed my help to write to you."

"I'm sorry – I really am. I would have been there if I'd known."

"I know. I just wish she would have told me more about you. All she ever said was that your life was really complicated, and I remember wondering if that meant you were married or something, but when I asked, Mom said she doubted you'd _ever_ get married – in just that tone, too. So I figured you must never have loved her. But – the way you talk about her – it sounds like – like maybe you did and I don't get it. I don't understand how if two people really love each other, why they don't just find a way to make it work. Why is that so hard?"

"There are no easy answers, Em. Me and your mother – even if we did love each other, there's just no way it ever would've worked. We're just too different." And what does that mean for Beth and me, I wonder… _Just take it on faith… _Right. That is a fuck of a lot easier said than done… but maybe I really will just wake up some day and realize that she's still here… Emma is speaking again:

"I was eight when Mom started seeing Jim."

Swell, here we go with Jim again. "And?"

"They were together for almost four years, and then – they just weren't together any more. And neither of them would tell me or David why."

"David?"

"Jim's son – he's a couple years younger than me."

"The nudist has a son?"

"Yes, Shelly. The nudist has a son."

"And – you guys lived together?"

"No – Mom and Jim never actually moved in together – but we lived barely two blocks from each other. Me and David walked to school together – I looked out for him just like – like a big sister would. We always ate dinner together, all four of us. Jim cooked," she adds with what I think is a smile. "They never fought – they had everything in common – but – one day Mom just told me that she and Jim weren't going to be spending so much time together anymore, only what she really meant was that they weren't going to be spending _any_ time together anymore. After a while – they started sort of seeing each other once in a while, but it was never the same. They really were 'just friends.' We never had dinner all together like we used to – but Jim would sometimes take me out to lunch or take me and David to a movie – I think a lot of it was to cover for how many doctors' appointments Mom was having that she didn't want me to know about."

"Ah." Right. Peachy. "So – ?" So what exactly does this have to do with the price of tea in China… other than this Jim had better not have had any ulterior motives for wanting to hang out with my little girl.

"I know you probably think I'd don't like Beth – but I told you last night, she's really ok. I just don't want to bother getting to know her if – if she's just not going to be around any more in a few weeks, or even a few months. And – it would really be tough on Cicily. She really likes you."

"She said that?"

"Yeah."

Wow. I guess I shouldn't be surprised – I know what she's like around me – and what Beth says – but Emma seems a whole lot less biased… "Look – Em – nothing – nothing is written in stone. I like Beth – a lot. I don't know of any other woman who would even consider putting up with me and my shit, but – I can't just promise you that someday she won't wise up and high tail it out of here. All I can say is I hope she doesn't."

"So you do love her."

"I – I really don't know," and I really don't want to talk about it, either. "So – um, look about this Jim – "

"It's going to bug you if I tell you we still keep in touch, isn't it?" Emma asks me.

"No."

"Liar." (I can hear the smile in her voice, though.)

"Maybe," I quip back at her with half a grin.

Emma's tone, however, becomes more serious, "He was the only person who was there for me when Mom died. He would have let me come live with him and David – but Hodges – Mom's lawyer – he said I had to go live with your sister until he could find you."

"Yeah – sorry about that." I can't imagine what living with Alison must've been like for her.

"It worked out – that's all that really matters."

Yeah, but not because I came looking for her…

"I'm thinking about going to school in New York – and – Jim said I could live with him when I do, you know so I don't have to spend money on a dorm or an apartment because everything is so expensive there. He's got a really nice place – small, but nice. There's an attic he said he'd fix up for me – right now it just has books and junk."

Uh-huh…

"He said that – that I could come out and visit any time I wanted – just as long as it's ok with you. He'd like to meet you."

Oh that could be fun… "So other than not wearing cloths – this Jim is ok? I mean – you know he's a stand up kinda guy?"

"Why are you so uncomfortable with nudity?"

"I'm not uncomfortable with nudity – I'm uncomfortable with a grown man prancing around naked in front of my kid. There's a difference."

"It would probably wound your male ego if I told you what my first thought about the naked male body really was."

Christ. Skip the cigarette, I think I need a drink.

Emma just sighs at me, "It's not like you seem to think it is, Shelly. A nudist is just someone who likes the feel of the open air on their skin – who likes to go swimming without a suit. It's not about sex – or even sexuality. It's about – freedom. And it really isn't like he walks around wearing nothing."

"I don't care. It's weird."

And there is a lot of fucking silence on her end.

"Fine. You give me his full name. As soon as I'm satisfied that this nudist is really an ok sorta guy, we'll talk about where you're going to college – just don't expect me to go all warm and fuzzy over him."

And I don't think I've ever been so happy to hear the sound of my phone ringing as I am at just this very instant…


	33. Saved by the

**Chapter Thirty Two:**

_Saved by the… _

That was Milo on the phone. I'll spare you the details of the conversation – besides, as soon as I hang up it's all I can do to keep from breaking my neck trying to figure out where Beth is. (Yes, Milo and I spoke briefly on the subject Marlina Eddas's integrity, too – but the truth is that I have to trust her, I just don't have a choice. No criminal attorney in the world is going to get me off the hook if Eddas is playing me. Milo assures me that she isn't going to screw me over, insisting that she really will keep her word – but – like I said, I don't have a choice and I know it. I _have_ to come out of this in one piece – and that means I have to trust people. It's just that I trusted Ajedrez – and I trusted Dan Collins, at least to do his fucking job – and we all saw how well that worked out…)

"I'm in here," Beth calls from the kitchen, before I have a chance to really injure myself 'looking' for her. (This whole blind thing is pretty fucking inconvenient sometimes…) She doesn't say anything more, even when I come into the room. I honestly don't know if Beth _knows_ I'm pissed – or if she somehow heard my phone ring and just figured it out… or maybe it was just the way I came tromping down the stairs that gave me away. I reach for what I discover is my last pack of smokes in the cupboard without a word to her, despite the fact that I have to reach just over her head to get them. I'm almost afraid to say anything, I am just that angry at her.

I lean against the counter, trying very hard to just keep everything steady as I get the pack open. Smells like she's got dinner started. We're having left overs. Not that I really fucking feel like eating after that little chat Milo and I just had… After taking a couple of long drags off my cigarette (and realizing it just isn't going to help,) I turn to 'face' the object of my ire. "I just got off the phone with Milo. You _do_ know what he told me, don't you?"

"I – wouldn't expect him to lie to you about anything," Beth's tone is almost coy. Except that coy is cute – and there is nothing_ cute_ about what she didn't tell me.

(Of course I can't accuse her of lying, because I never fucking asked…)

"What did you _expect_ me say?" Beth demands, almost out of the blue – the coyness is gone from her tone and it sounds as if she's turned to face me fully.

"You could have told me that Culiacan had turned into a fucking war zone."

"Why? So you'd feel obligated to talk me into staying here where it's 'safe'?"

"That would be one idea, yes. Even if you weren't going to stay _here_, I would've **_never_** let you go back there –"

"And yet you wonder why I didn't tell you?"

"Fucking – you really would have gone back there, wouldn't you?" I don't believe her…

"I still will if you want me to," her tone is cold.

I'm just quiet for a very long moment, trying to really get a handle on that last little statement. I finish my cigarette and put it out – but I don't bother lighting another. It won't help anyway. "Do you mean that?"

"I mean that if you don't want me here, there's no reason for me to stay – but you have to want me because you really _want me_, not because of what happens to be going on in Mexico."

" '_Happens to be going on' – _? It's a fucking _war zone_ down there, Beth," I'm only barely keeping my voice to a soft roar. "Where's Cicily?"

"Playing in the leaves out back – she's fine."

"Of course she's fine – this isn't fucking Mexico!"

"You're over reacting."

"And you're under reacting!"

"Sheldon – it's less than a month after a failed coup left the city in _shambles_. A major cartel was crippled – and you know that no vacuum is left open for long. What in Hades did you really_ think_ was going to happen? That everything was going to go back to normal – well let me tell you something, mister, normal down there_ is_ a war zone. It's drugs and drug money and everybody vying for a piece of the action because there is almost no way for anyone to make an honest living. Why _should _they work for a few pesos a day when they can make hundreds of thousands growing, refining and peddling that crap? It was just slightly more contained before La Dia de los Muertos – afterwards – yeah, it all went to Hades in a hand basket. Go figure." She turns away from me in what I'm pretty sure is disgust.

And I wonder how much of that disgust is aimed directly at me, because I'm the one who engineer Barillo's removal from power… I left that vacuum at the top… even if she _says_ it's not my fault, I pretty much caused that whole fucking mess and I know it. And more than anything in the world, I wish that I could just_ see _her – because if I could see her, maybe I could figure out if it's me she's angry at or maybe it really is just the situation. But it's pointless – I can't see her. I'll never see anything again… "I thought if it got that bad you'd leave," I say quietly.

"Just where would I go? In with my sister, who would break her fingers dialing Neal's number – or should I just cut out the middle man and go straight back to him?"

"Damn it, you _know_ I'd never suggest that! What about that brother of yours?"

"He's still in the middle of his own mess – and he lives in a one bedroom trailer so it's not like there'd even be any room for us, anyway. Besides, I never could have come back into the country without Milo's help – or did you forget about that federal warrant?"

Milo's help. Yeah. I reach for the pack of cigarettes only to find Beth's hand on mine. "Don't," I warn. I'm in no mood to have my habit curtailed.

"I'm not trying to stop you from having a cigarette. I just – I need you to understand: I didn't have anywhere to go. Besides, Culiacan is – my home."

I heard her hesitate… "_Is _your home – or _was _your home?"

"I can't stay here with you just because you don't want me going back there. I had to know that if you _said_ you wanted me to stay, it was because you _really_ wanted me, not because of anything happening in Mexico."

"You still should have told me what was going on, Beth. I'm in the dark enough as it is without you adding to it." Yeah, I really do say that just as coldly as you think I do. I feel – I feel almost as if I've been betrayed somehow. (I'm not real pleased with Milo for not telling me what was going on down there sooner than right now, either – but it's hard to be angry at him when I know he got her out of there.) I'm shaking – but I manage to get my second cigarette of the conversation lit.

Beth is quiet for a few minutes before finally speaking to me again. "I just had to know you really wanted me – or didn't want me – can't you understand that?" Her voice is real quiet and it sounds kinda like she's shaking too.

"Well now you fucking know – _happy_?" (yep, that's a snarl, all right.)

"I'm sorry, Sheldon."

I take a deep breath – and let it out again. Then I light another cigarette and hand it over to her – Beth takes it from my hand. She really is trembling. "I'm sorry I jumped on you, but – all I could think about was what could have happened – what _would_ have happened if you'd been there last night."

"Last night?"

"De Jesus and his goons burned your neighbourhood to the ground. There is literally _nothing _left." And as usual, I realize too late that I should have said what I just said a whole fuck of a lot more gently…

Beth doesn't respond – but – yeah, I don't need eyes to know she's turning further away from me – tearing up. It doesn't make me feel any better when I reach for her and she shrugs me off.

"What happened?"

"Milo thinks that maybe someone figured out I'd taken refuge in your neighbourhood somewhere – there were enough people who saw me with Hermano on the Day of the Dead – it really only was a matter of time before someone put it together. De Jesus seems to be in some kind of cahoots with Suarez – and since I surfaced here in D.C. working with the DOJ that just throws a real kink in her plans to frame me – so she got him to move in and – I don't know what the plan was. All I know is – " is how fucking close I came to loosing my two angels last night – only I can't say it out loud. My voice literally refuses to cooperate.

And the part that _really_ ticks me off is that Milo told me how Beth talked Hermano's family into going to stay with relatives in another part of the country almost two weeks ago – but_ she_ wasn't planning on leaving until Milo talked her into coming here… (Yes, I really did ask about Hermano – I owe that kid.) "Milo said his guys managed to clear out most of your stuff before De Jesus band of goons came in. He's going to ship it to a service I use sometimes." You know, for when I need 'discrete' deliveries – although I think this will be the first time I've had household goods shipped into the country… good thing it's one of those 'don't ask/don't tell' operations, because I'd really hate to have to explain this one…

"It's not my _stuff_ I'm upset about."

"I know," I don't even try to reach out to her – she's just too far away from me right now, the walls are just too thick and high. All I can really do is hope that this is only a temporary situation… hope that she really doesn't blame for what happened down there. No regrets, no apologizes – just walking my beat, setting them up, watching them fall, pulling the strings and cleaning out the system. Just restoring the balance. Only nothing got restored and nothing got resolved and I just don't know if I can live with Beth hating me for what happened last night – for what would have happened to her and Cicily if they'd been there.

And suddenly I realize that Beth is sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Ange," I tell her softly, still keeping my distance. My own defense mechanisms in action – if I don't touch her, she can't push me away.

"I don't hate you – and I don't blame you – I just can't believe it's all gone – " Beth turns towards me – I feel her leaning right into me. "Please just hold me – I didn't mean to push you out – or leave you in the dark. I'm sorry – I'm_ sorry_."

I fold my arms around her, before she even gets the entire sentence out, drawing her in as close as I can. Maybe I _am_ selfish, but I am just so fucking grateful that she doesn't hate me right now. That's all I needed to hear – all I need to know.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," Beth continues through her tears – and I remember what she said about her father, about never being able to do anything right by him. I'll bet he held every little mistake over her head until the day he fucking croaked, which is probably why she's still apologizing…

"Shhh," I stroke her hair and kiss the top of her head, wishing I had some clue what I was really doing here. "I shouldn't have jumped on you, Ange, I'm sorry. It's just that all I could think about was – was how fucking close I came to losing you, both of you – and I guess I just freaked out a little."

"Just a little, Cowboy?" she manages to tease me – and I think I really can breathe again.

With a careful touch, I brush the tears from her face, "Just a little," I manage a bit of a smile. It feels _so_ good to hold her like this… to realize that she turned to me… that she's holding onto _me_…

Beth only stirs when we both hear the back door slide open and Spencer comes bounding into the house with a cold gust of wind and a giggling child on his heels.

"I'll run interference – you should probably get a cold cloth on your face," I tell Beth quietly.

"Thanks."

"Any time – hey – have you – told her yet –"

"I wanted to give you a chance to talk to Emma first – and I wasn't sure – how that would go."

"Yeah. We'll talk about that one later," I mutter. Jim. The nudist. Christ, only Holly could have gotten involved with a guy like that… But, I head into the living room to keep Cicily occupied long enough for Beth to put herself back together… or did you really think I was such an insensitive prick that it wouldn't dawn on me she might not want to have to explain her breakdown to her kid? I'm pretty dense – but everybody has to get it right once in a while, even me.

"Do I even want to know how many leaves you guys just brought in with you?" I ask Cicily in what I hope is a conversational tone – I'm really _not _good with kids – but maybe I'm getting a little better. Like I said, everybody has to get it right once in a while.

"Not _too _many," Cicily assures me. Then in a much more subdued voice, she inquires if I've had a chance to ask her mother about going to the museum on Saturday.

Right. With everything else, I almost forgot. "Tell you what – why don't you go get cleaned up and I'll talk to her now."

"How did you know I needed to get cleaned up?" Cicily asks me – just a little bit shyly.

I smile, "I think I remember being about your age and jumping through piles of leaves." Right, sure I do. (What I think I remember is raking up big piles of leaves for Alison to run through… but it's real hard to know what happened anymore…)

"Mama made me braid my hair before going out to play – I hate braids," Cicily informs me then.

(I have no idea what it has to do with anything but…) "Why's that?"

"When I take them out, my hair's all bumpy. I don't like it bumpy."

Ok, there are just some things that men are not meant to understand… I shoo her upstairs and return to Beth, just as the clock in the hall chimes four, reminding me that I have an appointment in a few hours… and I really need to talk to Eddas, too. But first things first…

… "The Smithsonian?" Beth sounds as if I've just suggested something a lot more ludicrous than a trip to the museum. "On Saturday?"

"Why not?"

"For starters, it was barely a month ago that I dug a bullet out of your thigh and it really doesn't look like you've been taking it easy."

"Not in my vocabulary, Darlin', you know that."

"I'm serious, Sheldon."

"So am I. It's just a trip to the museum. I'll take it easy the rest of the week, I promise."

Beth just sighs; it's a very heavy she-knows-she's-beat kind of sigh. "And I suppose you and Cicily have already discussed this, haven't you?"

"Sort of."

"Uh-huh. You just have to promise me you won't use having me around as an excuse to go and get yourself shot up again."

"Well – I can at least promise I won't use having you here as an _excuse_," I tell her with a bit of smirk, which I'm sure she understands. I have no doubts that I'm going to end up injured again, it just won't be because I have my favourite nurse on hand to patch me up when it happens.

And I'm sure Beth is shaking her head at me, "All right. You have a date."

"Good. Now – um – speaking of dates – I kind of have one of those set up for later on tonight, too."

Silence.

Ok – I hadn't really expected this to go over well. "Her name's Paula Basil. We used to be partners. And – well – partners." Because I'm not going to start lying to Beth now. "The Company gave her the job of investigating what went down in Mexico."

"You mean she's investigating you."

"Yeah, that too. We're meeting for a drink later on tonight – I might be kinda late." Hmm… you know, I don't think that came out quite as well as it could have…

"All right."

Except her tone says 'all wrong.' "I didn't mean it like that."

"I – didn't say you did," Beth insists.

Christ. On a fucking crutch, even. "Ok, look – I'm just going to crawl out onto a limb here and tell you something straight up," I tell her, although I wish I had time for a drink first.

"Sheldon – you don't owe me anything –"

"Wrong. I owe you everything – but that's not what I have to say. So just – be quiet a minute and listen to me."

More silence. It's a stony sort of silence – probably in response my surly tone just then. I make the effort to soften up a little – I'm not angry so much as just fucking nervous. I'm not good at this shit. Like I said, I don't build bridges, I blow them up. "Just hear me out, ok?"

"I'm listening."

I'm stalling… but I started this, so here goes nothing… or everything. "I don't know if I'm ever going to believe that there's anybody else in this world who might, maybe, even _consider_ putting up with me and my shit – least of all Paula Basil. But if there _is_ someone out there who would want to have me around – it just doesn't matter. No matter what your gut keeps telling you about – how did you put it – someone 'over my shoulder' –?"

"I know that doesn't make sense, I'm sorry. It's just – sometimes the things I see and feel don't make any sense to anyone but me – I – I can't control that. Like I said – it's not like in the movies or on tv, I only got that _really_ clear picture the one time – with Daniel. The rest of the time – it's just feelings and metaphor – or really weird dreams that don't even make sense to me until it actually happens."

"That's fine. I don't even believe in that stuff – but – you do, and that's fine by me. However, the point I'm trying to make is that you're missing something really fucking important here."

"And that is?" she asks – and oh yeah, her tone is _real_ fucking defensive.

"The fact that even if you're right and there _is_ someone out there who would actually put up with me, it just doesn't matter. I'm not interested in anybody. Anybody _else_," crap, I'm really doing a real piss poor job here… "I'm especially not interested in Paula." Been there, done that, didn't keep the t-shirt.

"Humour me a little – tell me about her –?"

Oh, I do not think this is going to end well…but it'll be even _worse_ if I refuse her, and I don't have to be psychic to know that. "There's really not much to tell, Sweetheart. Me and Paula were together – and _together _– for a year, year and a half, about eight year ago." I reach for my cigarettes – Beth declines my offer, so I just light one up for myself. "We fucked. We also went to the theatre together a few times, had dinner, that kind of thing. But that was just partner stuff – not _partner _stuff. The sex was just sex, it didn't have anything to do with anything and it didn't_ mean_ anything." Which is probably not painting yours truly in a very good light… "I swear, she's the only partner I ever screwed around with," not that I think that tidbit is going to help either…

"Just out of curiosity, was she the only woman you were with at the time?"

Christ – this is going South and fast. "No."

And – just like I expected, there is an awful lot of silence coming from Beth's end of the conversation. "I know how it sounds – " I begin.

She cuts me off, "You don't owe me any kind of explanation – for anything. When I said I would never judge you, I meant it."

"I don't think you meant it like this."

"Maybe not. But I said it and I make a point of keeping my promises."

"Ouch."

"I didn't mean it like that, and you know it. I wasn't ever going to hold you to that promise you made about coming back, because I knew that even though you meant it when you said it that – that plans really do change, ok?"

"Ok." Liar. It's not ok, not with me, but that really isn't her problem, it's mine. "So how much does it really bother you – the whole thing with Paula?"

"It doesn't matter if it bothers me or not, Sheldon. It's stuff that's already happened – besides, I hope you don't think I'm some kind of virgin mother over here."

"Well no – I – really hadn't thought – yeah. Anyway." I am _not_ blushing.

Beth chuckles softly, then, "Look, I'm not going to try to change anything about you –"

"You don't have to."

"Should I be afraid to ask exactly what that means?" And – yeah, she definitely sounds scared.

I honestly keep forgetting that Beth is just as afraid of this whole – _whatever it is_ – as I am. "It means that I'm not interested in anybody else, period. Savvy?"

"I – think so," her voice is real damned quiet.

"Good," I want to kiss her long and hard – but I make due with a gentle kiss that I actually have some hope of pulling back from, because there's still something else I need to say… "Um – can I spring some more 'good news' on you now?"

"And that would be?" but there is a clearly audible smile in her voice.

"How upset will you be with me if I'm not here to eat dinner with you guys tonight?"

"Can I at least ask what's up?"

"I need to bring Eddas up to speed on a couple things – it could take a while." Especially since I bailed on her today… because maybe I am just a wee bit nervous about being played, so if I can give her a reason _not_ to burn me… Christ, I hate operating this way, like some kind of God damned beggar. But right now – I guess beggars can't be fucking choosers.

"For all it's worth, I think she's on the level," Beth tells me. "But – I've been wrong before –"

"You've been right too. Milo trusts her and – wait a minute. Did you actually _hear _the conversation I had with Marcus earlier?"

"Um – no. I don't even know who Marcus is."

Christ on a crutch.

"Look," Beth says, "Back to the original question – I know you're in the middle of something so if you have to miss dinner, you just have to miss dinner. Just promise me you'll eat something – and then I guess I'll just let you make it up to me later for not eating with us."

Hmmmm… "I think I can live with that," I favour Beth with half a very pleased little smile before stepping out of the kitchen to make that call…

Marlina Eddas picks up in three rings.

"Hey there, Boss Lady."

"Sands. Your – friend – said you were – ill –?"

I just smirk. Friend, huh? Bet she didn't think I even had any of those… "I had a nasty case of familial bull shit, but it's better now – and no, I didn't kill anyone," I assure her. Not that I didn't _want _to, but… "Have you talked to Milo today?"

"No – he usually only checks in every few days, why?"

I give her the skivvie on what went down last night in Culiacan.

"I was just about to order something in – you feel up to a working dinner?" Eddas asks me.

"You paying?"

"I'm getting Chinese – what do you want?"

"Well, sweet and sour pork is my fave when it comes to Chinese – but anything with pork in it will do."

"Ryan will be there to pick you up in fifteen minutes."

"Peachy keen, I'll gussy up and be waiting by the door – over and out," I say by way of adieu. I really have to wonder what Eddas thinks of me… but more importantly, I need to figure out if she's _really_ as trustworthy as Milo believes she is…

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Me and my partner we work on the run  
The quick try to get quicker   
And the creepers get hung  
Now it's you that got wasted tonight on the job  
One lost his liquor  
And the other lost his hand

Ten sticky thumb prints on the door and the sink  
But nothin' saw nothin' - just smell the stink  
Five hundred mugshots and a hundred to one  
Four forgotten and the rest just won't come 

When you've begun to think like a gun  
The rest of the year has already gone  
When you've begun to think like a gun  
The days of the year have suddenly gone.

Blood on the windows and blood on the walls  
Blood on the ceiling and down in the halls   
And the papers keep pounding on everything I burned  
And the people getting restless but they'll never learn

I picked up a doctor - he's good with a knife  
Says anaesthetic's a waste of his time  
Works in a hurry but always worthwhile  
Knows they won't be back for a long long time

Top of the staircase was ready to fall  
We were still waiting downstairs in the hall  
Watch out for big mama, she'll set you on fire  
Or go for your neck with the chicken wire

When you've begun to think like a gun  
The days of the year have suddenly gone  
Once you've begun to think like a gun  
The days of the year have already gone

Mother of plenty, mother of none  
You've got me cornered and still on the run  
I don't care nothing about you anyway  
Stuck in this hole I'm on my way

Yeah when you've begun to live like a gun  
The days of the year have already gone  
When you've begun to think like a gun  
The days of the year have suddenly gone

-Siouxsie and the Banshees-

……………………………………………………………………………….

Just a song that reminds me of Sands – and it's one of my favourite Siouxsie songs


	34. Trust

**Thank you, Sands-Agent! **

I'm not sure how much more I'll get up this week with the holiday and all... we're having the family here for Thanksgiving... my sister, brother, sister in law, mom and dad, another couple and a bunch of kids...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ;)

So if I don't 'see' y'all between now and then, Happy Thanksgiving!

**Chapter Thirty Three:**

_Trust _

"So what did you do to pull this detail, anyway?" I ask, sliding into the passenger seat of my little assistant's little car – Spencer is already settled into the back seat. (I couldn't tell you what kind of car it is, just that it's one of those econ-cars that college kids drive. It reinforces my notion that the kid really is a kid.)

"What do you mean?" he asks

"You must have pissed Eddas off good to get yourself assigned to me," I fold up my cane and set it in my lap.

"I – asked for this assignment."

Kid seems real uncomfortable, too, now that it's just the two of us. Might have something to do with me nearly taking his fingers off with the cane when he tried to open the car door for me… I _can _open a door by myself, thank you. (Hey, I didn't hurt him, I had a pretty good idea where he was in relation to myself… of course I might have left a scratch in the paint, but I'm guessing it's a shitty little car anyway.) "Look, I'm not the kinda guy who responds to sucking up – and I'm definitely not the kinda guy who's ever gonna go anywhere in this town, so sucking up is doubly a waste of your time. Do us both a favour and cut the crap – and then we'll get along just fine. If you can manage to remember how I take my coffee, don't bitch about my bad habits, and _don't_ get in my way again. Oh yeah – and please do not forget that little chat we had yesterday about calling me fucking 'sir'. Jeff really is just fine."

"Right. Jeff," he honestly sounds as if he has a hard time saying it.

I dig out my smokes – kid doesn't bitch. Chalk one up for survival instinct. "If it makes you that twitchy, Sands'll do, as long as there's no 'Mr.' attached to it. Just don't expect me to call you 'Moss'."

"Why not?"

I favour him with a wry grin as I'm getting my cigarette lit, "Do you _really _want to hear all the things I can come up with about rolling stones?" As it is, I'm thinking about getting him a pet rock for Christmas, just for kicks. (I don't really buy gifts for anybody... unless you count that blow up doll I sent Milo one year, just for a laugh. Sexy Suki or some stupid name like that… I think he appreciated it, I got a blow up sheep in return. That was somewhere between Ecuador and Fucksit-stan-okov.) "You got an ash tray in here or am I just flicking out the window?" I inquire of my nervous little chauffer.

"Um – there's a pop can at your feet – "

"Pop?" Most East coasters call it 'soda'.

"I grew up in Ohio," Ryan at least figures out my quandary.

"My condolences," I reach down – yup, one soda can, slightly crushed. But hey, anything in a pinch. I wish I could see what it is – just curiosity, there kiddies. You'd be amazed by what you can tell about a person by what they drink. Me, I don't drink soda – it rots your teeth and besides, I don't want anything contaminating my booze. I'm guessing the kid here drinks Mr. Pibb – if they make that in Ohio. If not, Dr. Pepper – and probably diet. Maybe even diet, caffeine free – he seems like a diet caffeine free kinda kid... Hmmm…. I think I have a new mission in life – I want to find out more about my new little Tonto. I need something to do to occupy my time. "So let's take it again from the top – why are you here?"

"I really did ask to be assigned to you. Jeff."

"That you are definitely a few dancers short of a full chorus line there, if you know what I mean."

"Er – um – not exactly."

I just shake my head, kid's probably never even_ been_ to New York. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty six."

I almost smile. Same age as me when I got into the CIA. Christ – that really was sixteen fucking years ago. "Brothers and sisters?"

"Only child."

"You're not missing much," I mutter at him.

"You have a sister, don't you?"

Hmmm… but ok that info's gotta be in a file somewhere and I'm sure someone as bright Eddas wouldn't send the poor kid in blind – so to speak. "Yeah, I a sister." And, hmmmm again… "So what else do you know about me?" That's always interesting to find out.

"Just – what's on paper. I mean – I don't have the clearance to see your real file – just – you know, some basic stuff."

"That still covers a lot of ground, there, Sweet stuff." (Kid's already on edge, let's see how many buttons I can find in his psyche…)

Yep, that's a startled gurgle if ever I heard one – good recovery time, though. "You've been in the CIA sixteen years – your last posting was Mexico. Um – I heard about – " he falters.

"You were almost on a roll, don't start dancing on razor blades now," I can't quite help some of the bitter cold in my voice – but I really do have to get used to this part. I'm stuck with it for the rest of my life. Blind. Mutilated. Fuck me, but it sucks.

"I'm sorry – I can't imagine what – that must have been like."

"Good."

And there is nothing but silence from his side of the car while I finish my smoke, depositing the butt carefully into the can. "Look – kid – if I'm really gonna be stuck working with you – you gotta – I don't know – loosen up or something. I'm blind, get over it."

"I'm sorry – it's just that – I've never – sorry," he stumbles and trips over his own tongue.

"Why'd you get yourself assigned to me anyway?" Because honestly, what sane person wants to work next to a guy like me?

"I'd – really rather not say. If that's ok with you."

Interesting. "Ok. Let's start with an easier one – what are you doing with the DOJ – other than playing chauffer to a blind rat?"

"Blind – rat?"

"Think about it. And while you're thinking, talk." Push, push, push… heh.

"I graduated third in my class – Ohio State. Not the most prestigious as law schools go, I know, but Harvard was a little out of my reach."

And hmmm a third time – there is some genuine bitterness there. Maybe the kid is a little more interesting that a month old twinkie after all… "I'm betting you already know my alma mater," I shrug back at him.

Nothing.

"I can't hear the rocks rolling around in your head, there, Moss – nodding just doesn't cut it with a blind guy."

"Er – sorry – I – yeah, Virginia State."

I don't even bother to hide my chuckle. I think I like this boy, he's fun to play with. "So what – after leaving the land of – what the Hell do they have in Ohio anyway?"

"Cleveland."

I really can't help but laugh a little harder, "So after leaving the Xanadu that is Cleveland, Ohio – you decided to come to D.C. and work your ass for the DOJ?"

"Marlina Eddas was a guest lecturer last year – "

So much for my good mood – I'm betting anything the lecture revolved around the evils of guys like me…

"She gave me the opportunity to come and intern the summer before last and when I graduated – just this past June – she hired me in."

"So you wanted to get up close and personal with a spook, is that it?" That would explain why he didn't want to say…

"I – really don't want to – "

I wave him off. I don't want to hear it anyway. (And I'm pissy enough that I almost miss just how damned proud the kid is of himself, for landing a job with the DOJ. Well – I suppose it's not a bad gig, if you like that sort of thing. I file it away to be examined later – like I said, I'm kinda pissy just right now.)

"What do you have against the DOJ?" Tonto wants to know. And again, there's some real emotion in there – it's not quite anger, but he's definitely pissy about me being pissy. This oughta be fun.

Fortunately (for both of us), I'm going to have to give him the short answer; it feels very much as if we are turning into a parking garage. "Kid – guy's like your boss's boss don't have a fucking clue what it is to do the shit guys like me do, but they keep telling us how to do our job anyway. Everybody wants us to keep watch on the guys who would threaten the security and sanctity of the great old U.S. of A. – but we're supposed to do it by 'by the book.' Well, let me tell you something: the other team doesn't use the same fucking rule book, so sometimes there's no choice but to get a little down and dirty."

"There still have to be lines –"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. And as soon as I hear it from a guy who got his eyes drilled out of his head, _maybe_ I'll buy into it. Until then, you and your 'lines' can go piss right the fuck off."

"I'm sorry."

"If I want 'sorry', I'll look between shit and syphilis in the dictionary."

……………………………………………….

"I think that shirt might be taking the concept of 'office casual' just a little too far, Sands," Eddas greets me.

Huh – oh right. The Spanish Inquisition. I smirk back at her. "I wore it more for my daughter's principal than you."

"I see," she sounds oddly amused. "How did that go?"

"Worse than expected – but I really didn't shoot anybody." And I do wonder if my little Tonto thinks I'm kidding – at least I'm pretty sure Eddas knows what I'm capable of. (Tonto's been pretty quiet since I chewed him a new one in the garage.)

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Eddas queries – she certainly sounds sincere enough – and given that she seems to have had the brights to just step out of my way as I feel my way around the room, I'm forced to assume she means with Emma the education situation.

"I don't know – you know any schools that would take_ my_ little offspring this late in the year?"

"I might – "

"There's a chair to your right," Moss tells me just then.

"To my right – well, gee, that could be anywhere between noon and six – so if you're going to play 'help the crip', you could at least learn how to_ be_ helpful. Or you could try something really novel and just keep your yap shut." I pull off my overcoat and toss it in his general direction – sounds like he manages to catch it. "And it's black with two sugars, by the by." I add, wondering if he'll be smart enough to figure out that I just told him how I take my coffee…

"Well I see you two are getting along famously," Eddas observes dryly – sounds like she's tucked herself safely into a corner.

"Yeah, just like Fred and Ginger," I mutter back at her.

The room appears to be a conference type room – chairs around a table – and my nose has no problem locating not only the food in general, but my sweet and sour pork in particular. I park my ass and help myself – and I'm really glad Milo cajoled me into getting used to eating in the main dining room at that freaking resort he sent me to. It was not easy the first time I tried to eat in front of other people – you really don't realize the things you take for granted until you just don't have them any more.

Eddas takes a seat across from me – Tonto pulls up a chair to my right, but not right next to me. Smart boy.

"I subpoenaed Dan Collins' financials this morning," Eddas tells me as we dig into the chow. "And I've got people searching his known U.S. residences."

"You won't find anything."

"I didn't really think I was supposed to."

"No – not really. But – if you want to hit him so he sits up and pays attention, try to figure out where he keeps his stuff."

"She just said she – " Tonto.

I shake my head, "Not his _pad_ – look for a storage unit somewhere. Of course it's not likely to be in his name."

"What would I really find there?" Eddas questions me.

I smirk, "Not a whole lot that _you'd_ find interesting – but it would make him down right twitchy to have his sock drawer raided." And after what happened in Culiacan last night, I'm ready for some serious pay back. I can't touch De Jesus – yet – but I can get to Collins. I figured out where he kept his dirty laundry a long time ago.

"But if you say it's listed under an alias – " Tonto again.

I wave my chopsticks at him. "Collins' hometown is a little speck of dirt in Texas, real close to the New Mexico boarder – and unlike me, he still has the warm fuzzies for 'home sweet home.' " I turn back towards Eddas, "Oh, by the by – I have some business in Sante Fe – mind giving me a three day pass to go take a trip?"

"What kind of business?" she inquires – sounds genuinely curious, too

I really smirk at her this time, "Personal."

"Is three days all you really need?"

I shrug, "Should be." Besides, I have a date to keep on Saturday…

"Ryan is going with you."

Oh joy. Not unexpected, but… "Peachy keen, jelly bean."

"Wait a minute," Tonto. Again. "If you're not really expecting to find anything –"

This kid has a_ lot_ to learn about that whole concept of plausible deniability…

"When do you want to leave?" Eddas cuts him off – yeah, she gets it. I have me a bright boss lady… how nice.

"Well – I have a date later on tonight," I can almost hear Tonto bristling… "But first thing in the a.m. looks good to me. Well – technically, it looks pitch black to me, same as any other time of day – but I'm sure you get the picture," I offer her an almost charming little grin.

"You have a _date_?" You guessed it – Tonto just cannot keep his mouth shut about anything. (I'm not even sure what he finds so incredible about me having a date – oh wait, I'm blind, a skull-faced freak and a real fucking pain in the ass to boot… And he did kinda see Beth when he picked me up, so there's no telling what he's assuming about that… Yeah, I think me and Tonto are gonna have to have us a serious man to boy talk,_ real_ darned soon.)

"Should I ask?" Eddas queries, considerably more politely – I'm guessing she at least caught my tone and figured out that by 'date' I meant business not pleasure.

"Or I can just tell you about it," I quip back with a grin. I have to admit, there is something about this lady that I like. So far, she's given me space, respected the fact that I just will not be bossed around – and she stuck around until the end of my interrogation yesterday. She didn't have to do that. That doesn't mean I trust her, though – but it might mean that I would consider it. Maybe. "Think I could have a few words with you in private, there Boss?" I ask her. "No offence, Kid."

"Yeah. Sure." He doesn't sound real pleased – but he gets up and removes himself from the room, anyway.

"I know he seems a little green – " Eddas begins as soon as the door has shut behind Tonto.

"'Seems'?" I scoff at her. "You mean the kid _isn't _a throwback to Mayberry – maybe the missing son of Andy Taylor?"

"Doesn't matter – there is no way I'm sending you_ anywhere_ without an escort, Sands."

Escort? That's putting it pretty politely – no wonder she got so far up the food chain. "I really didn't expect to get off that lucky – this isn't about the kid. Trust me, if he gets too annoying, I'll make him run for the hills all by my onsey and you won't be able to stop me."

"So your track record with partners would suggest."

"I don't suppose there's anywhere in this fucking joint where I can have a cigarette?"

"Federal building."

That's what I thought she'd say… "Ok. Look. I want Collins because I want Collins – it has nothing to do with you. Same with Suarez. Everything else is just gravy as far as I'm concerned."

"Everything _else_ is the only reason I'm willing to deal with you, Sands." hmmm, she sounds annoyed…

"I know. But now I want to know something else."

"And that would be?"

"I just want to know – straight up – you and me – no witnesses, no tape, no nothing: do you we_ really_ have a deal or are you just playing me to get what you want – because either way, I'll hand you Collins and Suarez on a silver platter. I already have all the incentive I need on that score. I'm assuming you listened to yesterday's entertainment –?"

"Yes. You have been quite thoroughly set up."

"Fucking tell me about it. So look, I don't think Suarez will flip on anybody higher up – but Collins is a yellow bellied little weasel who'll squeal like a pig given the right motivation. Once you have him, you don't need me any more – you know it, I know it. So – my suggestion is that you squeeze Collins for all he's worth. It would just be awful darned sportsman like – or sports-lady like as the case may be – if you'd give me a head's up because I am really, _really_ trying to play by your rules and I'd just like to know if I'm going to get my promised freedom, or if you've got an orange jumpsuit with my name on it hanging up in your closet. What'd'you say?"

"You really don't trust anybody, do you, Sands?"

It is all I can to do keep from going off on her about answering a question with a fucking question. "Never had any real good reasons to trust anybody, Doll Face." I really need a fucking cigarette.

"Then there isn't anything I _can_ say to convince you to take me at my word."

"Come on, no tape, no witnesses – I'm laying it out nice and straight for you, mano y mano – or whatever. How about you just do the same – no games, just lay it on me like it really is." Because she did not answer my question…

I hear her almost stifle a sigh – I think she's thinking long and hard before answering… "Sands – I'll admit, when Milo first came to me with this, I was very leery of having anything to do with you. He had to do a _lot _of talking to just get me to even listen to what he had to say – and I'm not sure anyone but Milo could have convinced me to meet with you. But I place a great deal of value on the work he's done for me – on the chances he's taken to help me clean things up. And I place a great deal of value in Milo's judgment – as misplaced as I really – thought – it was where you're concerned."

"I know I owe him," I concede. "Frankly when he told me who he wanted me to talk turkey with – I pretty much expected you to come in with a team of armed U.S. marshals to haul me away."

"It crossed my mind."

(I think she's smiling… I hope.)

"If I tell you I'm not playing you, would you actually believe me?" Eddas asks.

"No. But if you tell me you _are_ playing me, then I'll buy it. I'll hand you what you want just because I want to – and then I'll disappear before you have a chance to call in the marshals. And every time some cheese goes missing they can blame me – I'll be the ultimate boogie man. And – we both really still win." _Fuck_, I need a cigarette. If she's playing me… if she's playing me I only _hope_ I can get away before she calls in the marshals, because I'm not flying solo any more and Eddas knows that too. I do not like this feeling one bit, like I'm standing here with my hat in my hands begging for a scrap… but she needs me too. I have to remember that – she fucking needs me too. She cannot nail Collins without my help. Even Milo, as good as he is, doesn't know that little rat-bastard as well as I do. (And there really is always the chance that Marcus is wrong – that Eddas isn't playing me…I'd really like to believe that right about now.)

"You'd like to just quietly vanish into the night while at the same time going down in CIA history as the ultimate boogie man, wouldn't you?" Eddas' tone is real thoughtful… shit, I think she's just figured out something about me. Something real.

I shrug, "I can think of worse ways to end up." Like in an orange jumpsuit…

"I'll bet you can. Unfortunately, you're more useful to me _here_, where I can tap into that twisted brain of yours. I don't have to _like_ you to appreciate you – although you might be disappointed to know that I don't dislike you as much as I thought I was going to. There is something – refreshing – about someone who really is just what they appear to be. I don't run into that very often."

"Aw garsh, you're making me blush," I smirk at her – and I can just imagine Eddas sitting there rolling her eyes at me in return.

"Look – bottom line is that I'm _not_ playing you, Sands. This isn't a scam – the deal still stands. It always did. I don't expect you to take me at my word – but as long as you come through on your end, I don't care what you believe. And – we both still win. Besides – as much as you say I don't need you after I have Collins – I'm not prepared to offer him the kind of immunity I'm offering you."

"Why not?"

"For one thing, I really do trust Milo's judgment, so if you're at all capable of any kind of loyalty, you'd better not screw me over, because you're right, you do owe him. And – for another, as despicable as you are, there is nothing in your record to suggest you've ever committed treason. If Collins set you up the way you say he has – if he knew that there was no order to assassinate the Mexican President – than – I can't deal with him."

And I'm really_ not_ getting any kind of duplicity vibe off her – but after Ajedrez, I'm real fucking leery about trusting those ol' Spidy senses I used to rely on so much. But I guess in a way, it doesn't really matter because what I told her is true – I would hand her Collins and Suarez even if she told me she was playing me. "Ok. Then, I should probably tell you that I have a lunch date tomorrow that I'm going to have to bump up to a breakfast date," and I go ahead and tell her about a 'friend' securing a criminal attorney for me. I don't name Marcus or his kid by name – but I don't think Eddas would have a hard time finding that information out if she really wanted it.

"Well – you have a choice. You will need an attorney present when you go in front of a federal court – so you can either use that one or the one I was going to recommend."

"Does it make a difference?"

"As long as you don't try any hot dog maneuvers in court – no. It really is just a formality – I just need you to behave during it."

"Lady, I don't want to be in front of any judge long enough to pull any stunts…" and that reminds me… "You wouldn't happen to know anything about custody cases, would you?"

"Custody – your daughter?"

"I just found out her grandparents are trying to get their meat hooks into her. They have money – and the old man is a real persistent son of a bitch. That's kinda that case of familial bullshit I was suffering from earlier."

"I'm assuming there was never any question of paternity?"

"You've met my little muffin, there, Doll Face, you tell me."

"Ascetics aside, your daughter _is_ quite charming."

"Righ. You obviously met her evil twin Skippy. The real Emma must have been upstairs sharpening her wit – or listening to that shit she passes off as music."

Eddas actually laughs at that one, "I think most parents think their children are a lot worse than they really are."

"Uh-huh." I'll bet anything she doesn't have any offspring of her own, so it's a lot easier for her to say that… and when did I turn into a fucking parent, anyway… Christ on a crutch. I really _am_ living la vida loca…

"In any case, it is highly unlikely that any judge will rule against a parent, no matter how 'persistent' the grandparents may be. I'll get you the name of a very good family law attorney anyway, because _you_ of all people shouldn't go into a courtroom unescorted. Just remember, so long as you keep your own 'wit' under control in front of the judge, you have nothing to be concerned about. The law automatically favours a child's biological parents."

"Even when that biological parent is me?"

"You know – I'm actually a little surprised at you, Sands. You should have had no problem figuring this one out all on your own."

"Excuse me?"

"Let me put it to you this way. My clearance is pretty darned good, and when I requested a copy of your full file, the copy I received was a little over seventy percent black-out. Now – how much of your life do you _really_ think a family court judge is going to get to examine?"

Christ. I really am the world's biggest fuckmook some days.

"Practice these words – 'I'm sorry, your Honour, but that's classified information.'" And I do believe she's laughing at me – but I'm real sure it's not a mean laugh.

"Right. Got it, Chief." Because fucking A, she's right. I was so wound up over the shit Alison was saying, it didn't even occur to me that there is no way any judge is ever going to get to know the first thing about my life. I can honestly refuse to tell anyone I was ever affiliated with the CIA. That comes under the heading of national security, amigos – and with my spiffy new DOJ badge – what judge is going to rule against me now that I'm one of the white-hats? Oh this is almost funny…

"So – how do you feel about recording your 'date' tonight?" Eddas asks.

"Why?"

"I don't know, Sands – do you_ really_ trust the CIA?"


	35. Tea for Two and Two for Tea…

**Thank you for the wonderful reviews! **

Sorry this has been so much longer than usual in coming – there's more on the way soon, it'll just have to be edited in between holiday insanity! As always, I hope you enjoy…

……………………………………

**Chapter Thirty Four:**

_Tea for two and two for tea…_

I'm surprised when my little Tonto offers to drive me to my destination (because let's face it, I haven't exactly been all sunshine and puppy dogs with the poor kid.)

"I haven't scared you off yet?" I wonder aloud, as he follows me out of the building so I can get in a cigarette. Although my 'debrief' with Eddas was a Hell of a lot less draining than my debrief yesterday, I'm still feeling a little dragged out by the entire process. Outside, the air is bitter cold and there's about three inches of snow on the ground from earlier. I'll bet the that somewhere over my head, the sky's completely clear, though; it's always this kind of almost unbearable cold when the sky is clear. (I'd still rather be here than in Mexico.) I light my smoke and lean back against the building with Spencer sitting practically on top of my feet – guess he's feeling the cold, too.

"Cat got yer tongue?" I ask when I realize Tonto hasn't answered my question yet.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Tonto actually sounds a little hurt… swell. A kid with a thin skin really isn't gonna last one day with me, let alone three (even if I were to try and behave myself) and I'm going to fucking need him out there. I don't have to like it to know that – well, just in case no one's been paying attention, I can't see my hand in front of my face these days. That means I need somebody to read things like signs and addresses… somebody to help me go through Collins' sock drawer, just in case there is something useful there. "When I'm trying to get rid of you, you'll know it," I answer – my tone is almost as frosty as the air. I pull out my phone and call for a cab before the kid can respond. "No offence," I tell him, pocketing the cell once more, "It's more a matter of – hmmm – how can I explain this – it's just better if I arrive alone, that's all."

"I guess I really don't understand how this kind of thing is supposed to work."

I just shrug, "D.C. ain't Ohio." And I suppose Tonto over there really is operating out of his depth. At least it sounds like he realizes it too. (Hey, it's a start. If Eddas had given me some young hot shot, I might have had ended up shooting him…)

"What's it really like?" Tonto asks then. Sounds like sincere curiosity to my (slightly frozen) ears.

I offer up one of my more charming smiles, "Probably nothing like what you've got in your head, there kid."

He seems to be – waiting. Ok. Why not, I have nothing to do but wait, anyway. "It's nothing like the movies – nothing like on tv. The bullets are real. The blood is real."

"I'm not that naïve." Offended? Sounds like I might have hit a nerve.

I almost laugh (not because I hit a nerve with the kid, but because – well, come on…) "You sure?"

More silence.

"Lighten up, would you?"

"It's hard to tell when you're trying to be funny and when you're just being – rude."

Rude? "I'm an ass – you shouldn't be afraid to say it out loud. I do. I am an ass."

"I don't swear."

"Well gosh, golly, gee – I guess I'm a donkey's behind then." Christ on a crutch, this kid really is a throwback to Mayberry.

"I'm just trying to be – civil."

"Don't waste the effort." I throw what's left of my cigarette to the ground and head back in – I seriously cannot feel my fingers any more. (I'll still take this over Mexico any day of the week.) Predictably, Tonto follows me – maybe instead of a sidekick, Eddas gave me a puppy. (Maybe I should start calling him Toto instead of Tonto?)

"You've been all over the world –?" the kid asks.

I just shrug. Technically, I really can't comment – and I don't happen to want to.

"The furthest out of the country I've ever been is Canada," sounds like he's really straining to keep the conversation going…

Oh what the Hell, I really _don't_ have anything better to do until my cab gets here. "Where abouts?" I inquire, finding a nice cozy chair to park my ass in, in the lobby. (Cozy – yeah, I think the last time they redecorated this side of the building was the seventies – I mean, that's when people stopped using 'pleather' right?) Tonto is speaking to me – guess I'd better pay attention.

"Toronto – I took my fiancée to see Phantom last Christmas – well, she was just my girlfriend at the time. I proposed over dinner, after the play – "

"How sweet." Sarcasm? Whatever gave you that idea?

"Have you been there?"

And I swear, I think my tone went right over his head… not only that, he sounds genuinely interested in whether or not I've ever been to fucking Toronto. "Once – but it was a long time ago." Fuck – I was twenty – three? It was before I met Holly… God I feel old all of the sudden.

"Business – or –?"

I favour him with a bit of a smile, "I was still in school. Decided to treat myself to a little vacation." Because that trip to the mountains that I would take some years later was definitely not this city boy's idea of an ideal vacation, let me tell you. Give me sky scarpers and a penthouse view… well, give me civilization anyway. Can't really appreciate a penthouse view so much any more. "Ever been to New York?" I ask.

"I took Jeanie to see Cats in New York last July – that's my fiancée, Jeanie Baker. I'd never been to a play before we met." (I think he's blushing – really, if I could see his cute little dimpled face – hey, I've got good imagination – I would bet that his cheeks are as pink as new-born's bottom about now. And I'll bet just about anything he really has dimples, too. Now, if he's a freckle faced red head… I'm almost glad I can't see that much… )

And let's see – Phantom, Cats… yeah. "I s'pose there's _something_ to be said for Andrew Lloyd Weber," I say to him.

"What do you mean by that?" (There goes that thin skin again.)

"Just that maybe you might want to see what's playing locally, that's all. Don't get me wrong, nothing beats a big Broadway production – but there's still something to be said for black box and dinner theatre too. And believe it or not, Weber isn't the only guy out there who's put pen to paper, if you know what I mean." Hmm, maybe I should find out for myself what's playing around here. If Emma is at all her mother's daughter, she's gotta dig the theatre, and I'd be willing to bet my last cigarette that Beth probably does too. She just strikes me as the type… (watch, with my luck she'll be into tractor pulls and monster trucks… does _anyone_ understand the point of a tractor pull? Of course, if she is into that stuff, I could always take her to a rodeo…)

"_You_ – like – theatre?" Is that Tonto's jaw I hear hitting the floor next to my feet…?

"Don't sound so shocked. It's a fuck of a lot easier to shoot a guy on the stage who's botching his lines than it is to take out a movie star."

Silence.

"That was a joke."

"Oh," he sounds genuinely relieved.

"You _never_ take out a target with a room full of witnesses, no matter how sure you that they'll applaud the effort," I favour the boy with a mischievous little grin. "So when's the big day?" I inquire, changing the subject so fast I think his head is spinning; but I really don't think Tonto there can handle much more on the topic theatre.

"Big – oh – right – we're getting married on November 10th – next year."

"That's one long engagement."

"Jeanie's a few years younger than me – only twenty two – she graduates this spring."

So unless she's a super genius, I can rule out law… but of course Tonto has a real problem with loose-lip disease, so I don't even have to ask, he just tells me:

"She's a teacher – or she will be. K through twelve."

I swear this is sweet enough to rot the teeth right out of my head. I'll bet they're just the picture perfect little couple…maybe she has red hair and freckles, too.

"So – um – you – married?"

I almost laugh out loud. Married? **_Me?_** "Wasn't that in your info packet?" I query in very neutral tone.

"Er – no – not really."

"Not too many guys in my line of work get hitched, kid. Being out of the country for months – sometimes years – at a time can put a real damper on any relationship." Take for example one's relationship with one's baby sister…

"I guess I hadn't thought about it that way. It must've been hard for you to ever have any kind of relationship." Hmmm…. Sympathy? Wonder if he caught an edge in my voice and got the wrong idea…

"Depends on your definition of _relationship_, there, boyo. I haven't exactly spent the last sixteen years alone, if you know what I mean." Too bad I can't wink, just to drive the point home…

And yep, I was right, I can just about _hear_ poor little Tonto blushing… "I guess – I'm just – old fashioned," he finally stammers.

_How_ old fashioned, I wonder… but maybe I'm better off not knowing… (I mean, my Christ, _a twenty six year old virgin_? I want Emma to hold of a good long while – but I think even I'll start to think something is wrong with her if she's twenty six and hasn't gone there… which isn't to say I won't break the knees of the first fuckmook who puts the moves on my little muffin.) However, in a tone that's real nonchalant, "Whatever blows your skirt up, I guess," I tell him.

"It's something we both agree on," he sounds defensive.

I just shrug. Could Eddas have paired me with a guy any_ less_ like me? "So why exactly did you want this gig?"

"It's – personal."

Hmmm… yeah.

"I'm not out to change you," he adds, "You or anybody else. I just – wanted the chance to work with you, that's all."

"Am I that infamous?"

"Sort of."

I just smirk. Ok – that I'll buy. (I'm still kinda curious as to what the kid hopes to gain from working with me – what I told him before was true, schmoozing me will not help his career one iota. In fact hanging out with me too much might just hurt his chances for advancement.)

"Your cab just pulled up," Tonto tells me – but wisely does not offer any undue assistance.

"A manana," I offer up one of my more charming grins.

"Ah – yeah."

…………………………………………………………..

_Author's note – sorry, I have no idea how to put a flipping tilda on that first 'n' in manana – if anyone really cares it's pronounced 'manyana' – basically Sands just said 'til tomorrow'._

………………………………………………………..

It's about a fifteen-minute ride to my destination – which factoring in how long it took the cab to come pick me up –

"Sands!"

Yep. I'm late.

I follow the sound of her voice, and with Spencer's help manage not to bump into anyone. Damn – this place got awful popular since the last time I was here – about three years ago, I think. (It doesn't escape me that other hollering my name across the room, Paula makes no move to offer assistance – a test? Or maybe she's just pissed at me for being late – possibly because of all the times I chewed her a new one for that self-same offence.)

"I was beginning to think you'd stood me up," she says, when I finally reach her. If my memory of the lay out is correct, we're near the back wall, not too far from either the bar or the kitchen. At least it's reasonably quiet back here.

"Now why would I stand up a beautiful girl like you?" I really only meant it flippantly – but I know that laugh. She's actually _accepting _the flattery…? You know, I'm glad I'm in a fucking bar – and that the waitress arrives, Johnny on the spot, to take my order before I've even parked my ass, because I think I _really _need a drink long about now. "Tequila with lime," I say, more out of habit than anything else, as I shrug out of my coat. "Neat. And make it something top shelf." Because around these parts at least I can get something better than rot-gut (and I have to remember to order that without ice – i.e. 'neat' for you non-connoisseurs.)

"I'll have another glass of wine please," Paula says, before the girl retreats. Paula actually takes my coat from me – of course she could just be trying to separate me from anything I might have in the pockets… but she's gotta know by that I never keep anything of interest in my overcoat.

I listen for Paula to sit back down and then park my own ass across from her. I fold up the cane and place it on the table next to me – poor Spencer, I don't think he likes this place at all. (I really hadn't expected it to be this crowded.) He's curled up practically on top of my boots. (And oh yeah, I've got that phony phone on my hip recording the whole thing for Eddas, because – well, I'm still not _real_ sure of her, but I guess I should play along for now, just until I get it all sorted out.) "So – here we are – " I offer up a wee bit of a smile in Paula's direction. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

"All business and no pleasure, Jeff? That's not like you."

Christ – is she flirting with me? Well, I guess given our history, Paula might do whatever she had to, to get to me – like I've said, there is no honour amongst spies. "Why don't we get business out of the way first," I suggest. "You know what I'm like when I'm curious – how about you satisfy me – then we can talk about you satisfying me." I favour her with a lascivious grin that _should_ get me slapped… (and I think briefly about my boss lady listening to this – but oh well. I'm sure Milo warned her about me.)

Paula just laughs, "Fair enough," she says – there's real warmth in her tone, too. "Yesterday really didn't go the way I'd thought it would."

"I'm sure it didn't," I smirk back at her. I'm sure she thought I'd be hauled out of there in chains, not walk out a free man, with head of the Intelligence Policy and Review Office at my side, no less. (Our drinks arrive, just in the nick of time, too. I think I'm going to need a whole lot more where this came from, because I'm having a Hell of a time pinning down Paula's game tonight.) "How much did you lose?" I inquire, taking a tentative sip of my tequila – I think it's Quervo.

"I never bet against you beating the odds, Jeff. Ever." And it's not _what _she says, it's the _way _she says it that gets to me, because it's that same sincere tone that bugged the shit out of me yesterday – and ladies and gentlemen, I _know_ this woman. This is _not _play-pretend. This is really for fucking real, genuinely unaffected sincerity, and I just do not know what to make of it.

"Thought you said I'd used up my last life getting out of Mexico, there Sugar." My tone is borderline cavalier. (I'm not ignoring her tone, I'm just letting her think I am. Truth is that it's bugging me even more tonight than it did yesterday – just in case you managed not to pick up on that all by yourself... Paula hates, me remember?)

"You pulled out a real wild card on us yesterday. _No one_ expected you to show up with Marlina Eddas."

Yeah, not even me. "So is that what this is all about, you're hoping to get the skivvy on that little deal?"

"Is it a deal?"

I just smirk, "Just call me Mickey."

"Mickey is a mouse."

Oh yeah, I already had this one with Milo. "Ok – come up with the name of a cartoon rat, then."

"This isn't a game, Jeff."

You know, I think Milo said that too… you'd think these people didn't realize how much value I really do place on my own fucking hide. Hello, Mr. Self-Centred over here – shit. Of course, I know this isn't a game – but do you think I'm going to let Paula know how seriously I take it? "So are we on the record or off the record?" I ask her.

"We're on _my_ record – but no, I'm not going to try and record this. I don't want to play on again / off again with you and a tape recorder."

"And here I was, looking forward to pressing your buttons some more," I grin at her. "Well then, Officer Basil, it seems as if my life is in your hands – be gentle. Oh – say, though before we get all official, how about satisfying a blind man's curiosity – what are you wearing?"

There's a moment of silence. Then, "Silk blouse. Skirt – snug – comes just above the knee. Hose. Boots – up to the knee. _Not_ snow boots."

Damn. I love a leggy woman in high-heeled boots – and she knows it, too. "That silk blouse of yours, real or synthetic?" I inquire, not at all politely. Somehow she doesn't seem to mind…

"Why don't you come a little closer and figure it out for yourself."

Well there's an invitation if ever I heard one. I reach out and discover that Paula's met me half way – well, that's _not_ her arm… but it is silk. "Colour?"

"Does it matter?"

"You know how I feel about you in red."

"Sorry to disappoint – it's green."

To match her eyes… "And the rest of it?"

"Black. That goes for what I've got on underneath as well."

Damn. "Lace?"

"And steel."

I'm really not sure who's flirting with who any more… but yes, we used to have some _real_ interesting times undressing one another because she packs as much heat as I do. "Still carrying that little derringer?"

"If you want to know _that_, you're going to have to come back to my place."

I just smile, "So – what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Her chuckle is soft. So's her tone. "You said you gave Collins a run down on what Barillo was up to, on the thirteenth of October – correct?"

"Yes – I believe I did say that. About a hundred times, in fact, Hot Lips." I can't quite help it – my tone doesn't have as much of an edge as it really should. I _should_ be pissed – but – well… "But that _wasn't_ the last time I spoke to him."

"Just – humour me a minute," her tone isn't scathing either. "Collins' report has you making a cryptic remark about balance, then hanging up and that was the last he heard from you."

"We already went over this."

"Once more," she says – it sounds almost like a request.

I have no idea what she's up to… but here we go. Again. "Collins, lying sack of shit that he is, falsified that whole conversation. It never happened – not the way he says it did. I gave him the full skivvy on what Barillo was up to, everything I had up to that point. Then he tells me that word had come down the pipes to take out Corazon and he'd like me to handle it – which made perfect sense, what with Barillo waging war against Corazon – and vice versa. It would be nothing for the two of them to take each other out – no one would be any the wiser."

"You called Collins – or he called you?"

Not that it makes any difference – all calls are logged, whether coming or going, but – "I called him. It was a regular check in."

"And you _never questioned_ the part about taking out Corazon?"

"Come on, Paula – you know the kind of weird shit that can come down the pipes. Why would I think he was making that up?" Although it doesn't escape me that she isn't actually questioning the validity of my claim that the order came from Collins… So is she trying to knock me off guard by making me _think_ she believes me – or does she really believe me? Now there's a good question…

"How often did you check in?"

"Usually – every other week, but with the kind of major shit that was going down, I was calling in every three days – and emailing every day – just a 'green signal' to let Collins know that everything was on track. He fucking knew what I was up to the whole time." Well, except for the part about me and a girl and twenty million pesos… but that doesn't pretty much moot at this point. I don't even know who ended up walking away with the money (and I'm pretty much past caring, too. I mean – it's not like I can buy my eyes back, now can I?)

"And you continued to check in regularly between the thirteenth and first."

"That would be an affirmative, there pretty lady." I drain the last of my drink.

Apparently, Paula noticed my quickly emptying glass and signaled our waitress, because just then a fresh drink is set in front of me. I smile my thanks – at both Paula and our girl. I wait for the latter to retreat before continuing. "I called Dan Collins on November first. I was being shadowed by the cartel. I'd been sold out by one of my guys and lost touch with another. Everything was going to shit on me and I knew the only way I'd be able to pull it off was if I could get some back up – and you know how much I _love_ working with other officers."

"Yeah."

Oops – but she doesn't really sound pissy… I really wish I could figure out her angle in this… but anyway… "After Collins hung up on me, I preceded a restaurant called the Flying Cow. I ordered lunch. I called into the central office to ask for a new line because I was pretty sure mine had been compromised – in fact by then, I was pretty sure my whole fucking op had been compromised. _Looks_ like I was right, huh?" My choice of words there was no accident – and I'm damn sure Paula knows it, too.

"Jeff – "

I wave aside what sounds like some sort of platitude. "Forget it." I drain almost half my glass in one gulp. It's getting to me. I'm letting this whole fucking thing get to me. I take a minute to pull myself back together, and light up a cigarette – at least in a bar I can still fucking smoke. "I'm not making this shit up, ok? I was set up – and you know, it might be one thing if it was just to take the fall for someone who wanted Corazon out of power – but – " but they fucking drilled my eyes right out of my face. They left me blind – _worse than blind_ –

"I know about your call for a new line."

"So in other words, you've known all along that my last check in really was November first – and yet you kept on insisting that I hadn't been heard from in a month," drip, drip, drip goes the venom off my tongue…

"That's the official Company 'line' – it's what I wastold to tell you. I'm not sure I was supposed to be flagged when you called in on the first – I'm not sure I was supposed to know you'd been back in touch with us at all."

"My guess – probably not," I sip at my drink. Now isn't this interesting… "So – even if it was a slip up, why would have been copied on my request for a new line anyway, Hot Lips?" Not that I'm real sure it was a slip up – I think somebody tipped her off. Only question is who and why…

"Because I've been on you since Collins reported in that you'd 'lost it'. He speculated that you may have gone rogue – but couldn't prove it because you'd vanished."

"And that would be – ?"

"October thirty-first."

"In other words not soon enough for you to catch up to me and stop me – but with just enough lead time that it wouldn't look like he might have had anything to do with the Day of the Dead." And because I was doing my job and keeping him in the loop, he knew it would all come together then…

"That's pretty much what I'm thinking. The only problem is that Collins had nothing to gain by removing from Corazon from power, not unless there's something really big that I'm missing."

"And just what do _I _have to gain from taking out the fucking Mexican president?" I have a hard time keeping my tone conversational. "I mean – _really_?"

"Collins has done a real good job of making it look like you went over the edge – it's not like you're the world's most stable individual, Babe."

I almost miss something right there – but not quite. See, she hasn't called me Babe since – well, since China. However, for just right now, I choose to ignore it. "Collins isn't the cherry on top, he's the lowly banana, the bottom of the sundae."

"And you're after the cherry, aren't you?"

I smirk at her, "Me? I'm just doing my job. But you should remind the boys back at Langley that just because _one_ patsy has been removed from active duty, doesn't mean _another one_ isn't being maneuvered into place. _Someone_ wants El Presidente removed from power – and I really don't think that someone is going to let a little thing like me screwing up on the Day of the Dead stop them from getting the job done." (Even if technically _I _didn't screw up… it was that damned mariachi. Although realistically, I should probably be grateful he got hit with sudden case of National Loyalty. I don't think Eddas would be half as friendly towards me as she is, if Corazon was pushing up daisies right about now.)

"You really think this is some kind of conspiracy?"

"You said the 'C' word Sugar, not me. Just the same, I'd hazard a guess that Collins knows a fuck of a lot more than I do – it's just a matter of who gets to him first, you, _or me_." Yes, there's some real venom there. I take great personal pleasure in the knowledge that by the time Eddas – and probably sweet little Paula here – are done with him, Collins going to be feeling a real squeeze on his balls. It honestly doesn't matter _why_ Paula's suddenly so interested in what I have to say – what'll matter is if she acts on it the way I'm starting to think she's going to. And the beautiful thing is that she doesn't even have to do much, just start asking questions. Just put that much more pressure on ol' Danny boy… I take a long drag of my smoke, wishing I could be a fly on the wall when he really starts to sweat.

"Level with me, Jeff – what's really going on here?"

"What's really going on is that I was set up to take the fall for – something. Something involving Corazon getting smoked – maybe Barillo too," which would explain Suarez and deJesus… but I'm not going to say that to the lovely lady in the green silk who suddenly seems predisposed to believe me. "I'm not ready to use the big 'C' word – but I know that whatever it is, it goes a fuck of a lot higher up than Collins – he's just a little ass-wipe and we both know it. We also know that it starts with him – unless of course you buy his version of what happened, in which case I'm just blowing smoke up your ass and I orchestrated the whole thing over some fucked up obsession for balance – or because the wind is blowing north-north-west."

"Yeah – I caught that yesterday."

"Think anyone else will?"

"The way you quote Shakespeare? Besides, even if they did catch it, there are more than a few people ready to believe Collins' take on your sanity – I'm just not one of them."

"Whispers round the old water cooler there, Hot Lips?"

"You could say that. I figure Marcus was probably too polite to tell you what the odds are that you'll end up in a rubber room."

I just smile at her, "I know where all my marbles are."

"What about this DOJ thing?"

"What about it?"

"Is it for real – or just some last ditch effort to keep your ass out of the fryer?"

I keep on smiling – and start humming the Mickey Mouse Club tune… at least I _think_ that's what I'm humming. It's been a few years. But apparently I'm either getting it right or her memory is as bad as mine on the subject of Mousketeers…

"_Jesu Christo, Jeffrey,"_ she hisses at me (and yeah, it's gotta be bad for her to revert to Spanish – and call me Jeffrey. Or 'Heffrey', complete with trilling on that 'r' because she's in full Spanish mode – that would be Spanish as in Spain, by the by. And you'd never guess from listening to her speak English that she was brought up in a predominantly Spanish speaking household. Both her Spanish and American accents are flawless.) "I think you'd better reconsider which way the wind is blowing because you're fucking playing with _fire_ here, Babe. Have you ever considered that_ this_ might be the reason Collins – or whoever's pulling his strings – set out to burn you?"

Well at least that part of the plan worked – she seems to honestly believe that I've been with Eddas for longer than the weekend… "Anything's possible. Of course my charming personality makes me – a visible target."

"That's putting it mildly. Do you still have your phone – the one you placed those 'imaginary' calls from?"

"No. Lost it along the way." Which was really fucking stupid – although at the time I didn't think I'd need to clear my 'good name' when I got home – _if_ I got home – because let's face, I was in pretty rough shape there for a while.

"Do you remember the number?"

"Yes."

"Give it to me," she slides something over – business card, probably hers, and a pen.

Oh this oughta be fun… my handwriting wasn't exactly legible to begin with. "Tell me something," I make the effort to keep my face turned in her direction while I'm writing – just for effect. "Why do you believe me all of the sudden?"

"Who says it's sudden – or that I _do_ believe you –?"

I smirk – good girl, at least she learned that much from me. Whenever possible, neither confirm nor deny anything, not even that you're not confirming or denying. "Hope you can read that," I slide her card back to her, along with the pen.

"I'll manage. If you really made those calls, I _should_ be able to find something somewhere in the system to prove it – but if you're lying, God help you, I'll kill you myself because I do not like to have my time wasted." It _sounds_ more a joke than a serious threat, but… hmmm… kinda glad I'm really not playing her…

"So what about the 'official' Company story?" I inquire.

"If Mitchel wanted puppet on a string, he would have given this somebody else. I won't let our history influence the way I handle you – one way or the other."

"Oooh, Baby," I just grin. Not much else to do when handed a line like _that_.

Our waitress brings a fresh round of drinks – good thing I'm not driving tonight. You know what they say about tequila – one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor… but it's kinda comfortable, being here with Paula again – I can almost forget that she refused to even speak to me for eight years. (We used to come here all the time, that's how I knew she'd know where to go… yeah, I'm starting to feel the buzz…)

The conversation turns to lighter things – I ask her what else she's been up to, besides the less than desirable task of tracking my ass down. We don't really talk too much about my more recent activities – I figure the less she knows, the better – but Paula's contented enough to chat about herself (I doubt I'm getting any real personal details, but I don't mind. I'm kind of just enjoying the company.) I manage to bite my tongue before I ask if she and her new partner (as of last year) are doin' the ol' horizontal mambo or if once was enough…

"Did you ever figure it out?" Paula asks, after our girl has left us with our fourth – or fifth? – round of drinks.

"Figure what you?"

"You really never could see the – I – shit, I'm sorry." And I hear the way her voice catches, "Jeff, I swear, I didn't mean –"

I wave it away, "I'm getting used to it – the way people talk. It's just stuff that you – you as in everybody – say without even thinking. Go ahead and finish your sentence."

I hear her take a very deep breath – and what I imagine is a pretty hefty swig of her wine. "You could never see the forest for the trees. You're always so focused on the details – you miss so much – you miss all the big stuff."

"So I've been told," but I know she didn't mean it that way, so I just drink my drink, wondering if the glasses are getting smaller of if I'm drinking faster. Maybe we both are, because our waitress is back and that is definitely the sound of two glasses being set down on the table. I finish the one I've got so she can away the empty – Paula does the same. "Hope I'm not the only taking a cab tonight."

"I hate driving in this city," Paula affirms. Then, "Tell me something – just for my own curiosity – that year and half that we were together – how many other women were there in your life?"

" 'In my life', there Sweet Stuff?" I ask, because to me 'in one's life' sort of implies dating and I haven't 'dated' since Holly. Now, don't misunderstand, I've always observed the 'rules of engagement' and taken whomever I happened to be fucking out to dinner – even out to a play or a movie, but that's just a part of the accepted mating ritual of the American male and we all know it.

Which I guess does make Paula a special case, because I spent more time with her outside both the bedroom and work than I've spent with just about anybody else – and she's certainly the only person that I had regular encounters with. We had sex once or twice a week – at least when we weren't knee deep in kim-chee. Or when I wasn't temporarily fascinated by someone else (but I always seemed to wind up back in Paula's bed – or with her in mine.) So – ok, I guess you could say we dated. I just never thought of it in quite those terms before now…

"Come on, you know what I mean," she coaxes when I remain mute on the subject for too long.

"I don't know – this going to affect the outcome of your little investigation?" I'm teasing her. Mostly. I'm relatively confident it won't matter – but it sure won't hurt if she comes up with something that makes me look good.

She just laughs, "I don't expect to be surprised by _whatever_ number you throw out, Babe. I'm honestly just curious."

"Honestly then, I never kept track," I tell her the truth – and wait for the explosion… but there is none.

"You know, even that doesn't surprise me. Tell me, though, did you ever figure out why I got reassigned to someone else and why I stopped speaking to you?"

"Um – I never thought it was any great mystery. I got you shot and left you in the field. You were pissed. End of story."

"Not even close. Oh, I _was_ plenty pissed about being shot. If you'd stuck with the plan we agreed on, I wouldn't've been compromised like that. But I always understood why you had to leave me there, I wasn't in such bad shape I couldn't protect myself and you had to finish the job. I know you came back as soon as you could."

"So – then why the Hell did you refuse to speak to me for the last eight years?" I want to know – and I mean, I _really_ fucking want to know. It's not the kind of thing I lost any sleep over – but that was because I'd always figured it was over getting her shot…

"Do you even _realize_ that you never came to see me at OMS? You never even called to say 'hi' or see how I was doing. I'll bet you didn't even know that I'd never been shot before."

I truly had no idea… and I guess my expression gives me away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I'm sorry – " I really am. I didn't know – when I'm laid up all I want is to be left alone…

"I'm over it – I just wondered if you'd ever figured it out."

And she really doesn't sound pissed – I'm just fucking gob-smacked.

"Guess I really couldn't see the forest for the trees, Sugar," I concur. I'm only vaguely aware that she's standing – moving – sitting back down, next to me – speaking:

"Well then let me be blunt about something. Would you like to come back to my place with me now, and find out for yourself about that derringer?"

"Are you asking what I _think _you're asking?" Because fucking a…

Paula's breath is pleasantly warm on my ear – and her hand is…um, yeah… anyway, I think you get the idea… "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," she purrs at me, "As I recall, getting each other disarmed was as much fun for you as it was for me. Only – bear in mind that this time it really will be no strings attached, Jeff. I will not let my emotions get involved – at least not until I can really prove you're – well, not innocent – but at least not guilty of treason. And I really_ do_ believe you, but I couldn't tell you that yesterday – we both know that being recorded – and I'll bet I wasn't the only one recording." And just about then she reminds me _exactly_ why I started calling her Hot Lips in the first place…

…………………………………………  
And now my charms are all o'erthrown  
And what strength I have's mine own  
Which is most faint: now t'is true  
I must here be released by you  
But release me from my bands  
With the help of your good hands  
Gentle breath of yours my sails  
Must fill, or else my project fails,  
Which was to please. Now I want  
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant  
And my ending is despair,  
Unless I be relieved by prayer  
Which pierces so that it assaults  
Mercy itself and frees all faults  
As you from my crimes I'd pardon'd be  
Let your indulgence set me free

William Shakespeare

(Set to music by Loreena McKinnit)


	36. It's a Cold and it's a Broken Hallelujah

Love is never easy…

…………………………………………………………………

It doesn't really matter now you're gone  
You never were around that much to speak of  
Didn't think that I could live without you, baby  
It couldn't be that hard to live alone

But I'm all, all alone again  
Thinking you will never say  
that you'll be home again

And it's gonna be a long night  
And it's gonna be cold without your arms  
And Im gonna get stage fright  
caught in the headlights  
It's gonna be a long night  
And I know I'm gonna lose this fight

Once upon a time we fell in love  
And I thought that I would be the only one

But now I'm on, I'm on my own again  
Thinking you will never show  
you won't be home again

And it's gonna be a long night  
And it's gonna be cold without your arms  
And Im gonna get stage fright  
caught in the headlights  
It's gonna be a long night  
And I know I'm gonna lose this fight

Lost in you arms baby  
Lost in your arms

Now I'm on my own again  
Thinking you will never show  
you won't be home again

And it's gonna be a long night  
And it's gonna be cold without your arms  
And Im gonna get stage fright  
caught in the headlights  
It's gonna be a long night  
And I know I'm gonna lose this fight  
I'm gonna get stage fright caught in the headlights

It's gonna be a long night  
And I know I'm gonna lose this fight  
I'm lost in your arms baby  
Lost in your arms

- the Corrs -

**Chapter Thirty Five:**

_It's a Cold and it's a Broken Hallelujah_

There's a song playing in the cab as we near the condo that I recognize – it's one that I've heard Beth sing – and it's right up there with _Nobody's Diary_ or Barber and his fucking Adagio for cheerfulness. Right up there with Rufus Wainwright and his _Hallelujah,_ too (which is not a song about happy endings, just in case you've never quite picked up on that.)

And right now, any one of them would suit my mood just about fine.

"Sure is a cold one," the driver observes – fortunately he hasn't seen fit to be too chatty on the drive – just as he pulls over to the curb. Maybe it's just his way of telling the blind guy that we're here.

I don't say anything. I'm not feeling real friendly.

"You need any help getting to yer door?"

_Buddy, I shot and killed four people the day I got my eyes drilled out, and only **one** of those was at point blank range_… but I suppose I shouldn't actually say that out loud to the nice old guy who, shock of shocks speaks perfect English. "I'm fine," I lie. I'm not fine. Well, I suppose I'm fine in respect to his asinine inquiry – but I'm not _fine_.

He tells me what I owe – I throw in a reasonable tip – and step out into the cold. It really is a fuck of a cold night, too, feels like the temperature has been dropping steadily since sundown. I only barely notice – everything just kind of feels the same right now. Warm / cold, day / night – it's all the fucking same.

I stop and listen to the cabby pull away from the curb before making my way up the walk. The walk has been shoveled and steps have been shoveled and salted – you know, so some idiot who can't see doesn't slip and break his fool neck coming home at one o'clock in the morning… _home?_ Yeah, I guess I can call this place home. Home is just a place to hang your hat, after all.

As soon as I open the door, I become aware of the soft sound of someone sleeping on the sofa. I don't need to be able to see to know it's Beth.

I pull off my boots and hang my hat…

And I know what you really want to know: _did he or didn't he_…?

But honestly, do I **_really_ **have to answer that?

She kissed me.

I kissed her back.

(I was too fucking startled to do anything else.)

And in any case, it wasn't entirely unpleasant – I really do call her Hot Lips for a reason.

But there was _nothing_ there (other than a hand in my crotch, eliciting certain uncontrollable responses – but Hell, I'm a guy, a good breeze can give me a stiff one, you know it, I know it, it's just anatomy – although in all fairness, Paula is a wee bit more talented than a stiff breeze… ) But there was _really _nothing there (no, the gentleman doesn't protest too much, he's just a little startled by that fact that there was nothing there.) We swapped a little spit… and… it _was_ nice, but… but I never wanted to just hold her in the dark. I never wanted to just sleep next to her – wake up next to her. I never wanted to just be in the same room with her. She's a great woman – but she's not my angel.

So, for the record, **no**, I did not go home with Paula Basil tonight.

I told her I had an early morning, but maybe some other time – hey, give a guy a break, I was caught totally fucking off guard, ok? I mean, Christ, of all the things I might have expected, being invited back to her place to mess up the sheets just wasn't one of them. And all that other stuff… yeah. I get what she was saying about not letting her emotions get in the way of her investigation – but she believes me. And that, my friends, is un-fucking-believable. (I guess maybe it shouldn't be – Paula knows me. She knows I sometimes pad my bank account with other people's money, but she knows I wouldn't go after Corazon without a damn good reason. It's just not my style; I have nothing to gain from him pushing up daisies.)

So after extracting myself from that kiss, I made my excuses and called a cab. I stopped back by the office to drop off the 'phone' and chat with Eddas about what was on it – figured I ought to warn her about the, er 'personal' nature of some of it. We talked about what Paula was up to – the work related part of it. Eddas isn't any more sure of what to make of that than I am. As for the rest, she was polite enough not to have anything at all to say… and now, here we are. I'm home. I'm home and I have a shit load of stuff going through my head, not all of it seemingly directly related to anything.

After hanging up both my overcoat and suit jacket, I release Spencer from his harness as quietly as I can and make my way over to the sofa and just stand for a while, listening to the steady, soft in and out of Beth's breathing.

I imagine her lying there in her pink bathrobe and black nightgown, maybe there's a book laying across her chest – I picture how peaceful – how beautiful she must really be. _Mon ange_. My angel. The only truly good thing to have ever happened to my life… which I know isn't quite true, because Emma's a pretty darned good thing too, even if from time to time I'm sure she's going out of her way to give me a heart attack… even if she really does love this Jim guy. (It's not like I can deny that he was a big part of her life but… jealous? You'd better believe it. I was never supposed to meet her, never supposed to know her, but now that I have? That just changes everything. Everything changes everything and it feels like nothing really makes any sense any more. I _should _have gone home with Paula tonight… I don't mean that I _wanted to_, I mean that I _should have_ wanted to. But why would I want her when everything I really want is right here? Hey – I told you I was confused.)

I park my ass on the floor in front of the sofa, very carefully quiet so not to disturb my sleeping angel. I want to touch her – I _need_ to touch her. But I won't do it.

I want (desperately) to 'see' her with my hands – to feel the soft curves of her body and the smoothness of her skin; I want to run my fingers through her hair – but I don't want to wake her, so I keep my hands to myself, even though it hurts. I _hate_ sitting here in the dark, unable to do anything but listen – all I have are my ears to convince me that she's really real – that she's really here. But – I _can _hear her. And – yes, there's just a little bit of that orange floral musky perfume of hers lingering in the air. I remember the first time I smelled that… along with cinnamon and vanilla. But she's one of those girls who digs candle light…

I wonder if Beth slept like this (peacefully) in Culiacan – if she slept like this in Neal's house. I wonder if she ever waited up for him when he went out drinking with his brothers or buddies – or if she just went to sleep hoping he'd run his car off a bridge in a drunken stupor.

I have a hard time imagining my angel as being that vindictive, though. She probably got out of bed in the middle of the night and went to collect his sorry ass, just so he wouldn't drive… I could be wrong – but I'm pretty sure I'm not. That's the sort of thing she'd do, even if Neal didn't deserve it, because Beth just doesn't look at the world in terms of who deserves what. If she did, she wouldn't be with me.

With me.

Christ – why the Hell would anyone want to be with me?

At least Paula knows me – she knew what she was asking when she invited me back to her place – but Beth? She just showed up here – and – and what?

_Look – Sheldon – there's only so many ways I can say it. I'm not afraid of you. I want to be a part of your life… nothing worthwhile is ever easy… _

I remember her wrapping her arms around me in the dark, back in Mexico, chasing away the nightmares, holding me when I shook, when I was afraid – when I couldn't tell what was real and what was just in my head. No one else has ever really seen me like that. No one else has taken care of me the way she did – no one's ever cared enough.

What I told her is true, Milo did come close – he saw me at what had been my worst up until that point – but neither of us was in real good shape back there. We both broke down – both came close to breaking completely – but we both managed to come out of it whole. And I can't honestly say that I would have made it through without_ him_ – not just because he was _someone_ to tend my wounds, someone whose wounds I tended, but because of the history we already shared, strange though it was, even then. Anyone else – anyone else I might have been able to shrug off, drive away, no matter how much I needed them or they needed me, because I just wouldn't have cared about either of our lives. I was real ready to just curl up and die – but he wouldn't let me.

Neither would she… she wouldn't let me bleed to death in her kitchen, even when I threatened to hurt her. She wouldn't let me curl up and die even though she had to know I wanted to. If I'd really shattered her mirror and slit my wrists in her bathroom that day – she would have pulled me back somehow, I know it. Deep down, I know it. I may never know why, I sure as Hell didn't do anything to deserve her kindness, but I know she never would have let me go, not like that.

I know, too, that I didn't come away from the Day of the Dead at all whole. Something broke – something that couldn't be patched up by just any one. Something – inside.

I can accept that Cucuy sold me out – I should have known better than to trust the hired help anyway. I can even accept El not following through on his assignment the way he was supposed to. I underestimated his loyalty to his country, that's all. Sometimes plans go awry. Shit happens – that's just the cost of doing business. I accept that.

What I can't accept is that I _really_ didn't see it coming. My instincts failed me completely – not a single red flag went up in my head. And I still don't know if Ajedrez knew all along that I was CIA or if it was just some unhappy coincidence that put me in her bed – but I – I never saw it coming. I never saw that she was playing me like a fucking bass fiddle and that single fact has taken as big a toll on my confidence as – as loosing my eyes has taken a toll on psyche.

I know I'm not quite the same person I was a month ago. It's nothing big or obvious – I haven't gone soft – I don't suddenly love puppies and rainbows, but inside, things aren't the same. They're out of balance. _I'm_ out of balance. I'll never admit out loud that my confidence has been diminished (fucking shattered). I won't fess up to being just a little (lot?) more messed up in the ol' noggin than I was a month ago to anyone, but_ **I**_know it's true.

I need physical contact. I never needed that before. I need the reassurance that only touch can give me because something inside cracked – something broke – and I just don't trust the things I used to rely on. My instincts. My self-confidence. (Yeah, I'm a real cracked pot all right… I almost laugh aloud because I have finally gone and done just what every shrink I've ever seen expected me to. I broke.)

But the one thing none of them ever counted on was that there might be an angel who would hold me in the dark, who would take care of me – who wouldn't let me go.

I'll never be the same – I'll be second and third guessing myself for the rest of my life, but I don't want to think about where I'd've ended up if she didn't give enough of a shit to do a whole lot more than slap on a few band aids and send me on my way. I know she saved more than my life that day... and she went so far above and beyond the call of duty for any nurse…

The sound of Beth stirring on the sofa brings me to the here and now – "Hey there, Cowboy," she says very, very softly.

I can't help the smile creeping across my face – no matter how scared and uncertain I feel in the dark, the sound of her voice is – magic. "I didn't mean to wake you," I tell her softly.

"How long have you been sitting there?"

I just shrug, "Wasn't really paying attention." (I want to touch her – to hold her – but something inside keeps me from doing it – I don't quite know why…)

"So – how did everything go?"

"I ah – I owe you an apology, Ange." I couldn't lie to her if I wanted to – there's just no point in trying. (But I don't want to hold anything back– she's my angel. No matter what, she deserves the truth out of me. There's so little I can give her, I have to at least give her what I can.)

"An apology?"

"You were right. About – someone else – someone who would – put up with my shit. Or at least – who might want to try."

Nothing.

"Paula invited me back to her place tonight."

Still nothing.

"Beth – I _didn't go_."

And yet she _still_ says nothing…

"Ange?"

"Sorry. Just – sometimes it sucks being right."

"Why?"

"Because I'm always right about the things I'd rather be wrong about. When I'm wrong – it's just because I'm too close to something – or my judgment is clouded by other things."

"Like knowing there'd be someone else in the picture so you think there's no way I could want 'a girl like you'?" I manage half a smile at her.

"Yeah. Stuff like that."

It feels like she's pulling further into herself – pulling away from me. Defense mechanism – I understand about those. It still hurts to have her pulling away – but I do understand. "What I said before, it still stands. Paula might be interested in me – but – " but I'm not good at this. When it comes to girls, I still find my tongue getting tied up in knots. Sure, I can be suave and even quite charming with strangers of either gender – but that's just part of the job. When I don't care about the other person, I can make them believe anything I want. But this is different. I care about her – I need her to believe me. I need her to believe _in_ me – and I know that's a fuck of a tall order to fill. "I'm just not interested in anyone else, ok?"

More nothing.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I don't think you have to be psychic to know I don't believe that." Although I'm not quite willing to call her a liar, either.

"I – just can't shake the feeling that – you're – leaving – "

"That's – the other thing," I confess – although – yeah. I'm _really_ not good at this. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to break that promise about taking it easy."

Nothing.

"I have to get away for a couple of days, that's all. It's work – I'll be back by Saturday morning."

"I'm sorry – I – " not only is it small, her voice is very shaky. "I just can't help it – I – "

I finally reach out and cup her face in my hand – she lets me touch her, and it's like the rest of the world just vanishes… "I'll be back before you know it, I promise." Not that I don't feel a small stab of guilt – I promised I'd come back and then I broke that promise… I promised her I'd take it easy and I know I'm not going to do that, either. How can I give her anything if I keep breaking my word…

"Where are you going?"

"I – ah I'd rather not say. But I'm not leaving the country and I'm not going alone – not that I really expect my new little assistant to be much use for anything but driving."

I feel her smile just a little and taking a chance, I pull her closer to me and find her lips with mine – Beth doesn't pull away or resist, but she is hesitant. Then, after a moment she really does return my kiss. Our tongues dance – and my insides go completely numb – but it's not that cold you-can't-feel-anything kind of numb – its more like everything is tingling and alive and it's just too much… only I want more. I want everything – and I want to give her everything, too… I pull her head back, belatedly reminding myself to be more gentle (not that she puts up any kind of fight) and go for her neck and ears, causing the most delightful little noises to come out of her throat.

I shift so that I'm up on my knees in front of her – I can feel her body under mine – I've got her pressed against the sofa – and her hands in my hair draw me further in, pulling me up onto her, so that I'm straddling her waist. I kiss her long and hard feeling the heat rising off her skin… and I'm beginning to realize just how in the way my damned glasses are, I just don't want to take them off… I know she knows, she's seen my face – but… for right now I'll just deal with having them in my way.

"You're really going to have to tell me where you want me to stop," I whisper into her ear, in between nibbles and caresses. "Or else I might not – " I am a greedy bastard and I know it, I want every part of her… and I want it now.

Hands on my chest stop me there – damn, maybe I should have kept my big fat mouth shut…

"Just tell me – this is – real – tell me you're not wishing I was someone else. Tell me you're really 'here'."

And of course I know just what she's asking – and – it hurts to think she would even consider it – but I guess I am who I am and we both know it. "I am right where I want to be," I move in to kiss her again, to show her how much I want her – how much I need her. But her hand won't budge off my chest. "Ange, I can't give you all the things you deserve – but I _can _give you my loyalty. I know it's not much – but it's – it's all I have to offer." _And I'm sorry about that, I wish I did have more…_

"You don't owe me anything, Sheldon."

Those words cut into me. I owe her everything. And I say as much. "But that isn't why I didn't go home with Paula tonight." Only I really don't know how to make her understand… she's all I want… all I need… but she – she honestly thinks I could be here with her and be wishing I was somewhere else, with someone else…? "How about we switch places?" I suggest – I keep forgetting that it wasn't all that long ago that I was shot through both thighs and kneeling really is not the best position in the world.

Beth doesn't really say anything – at least nothing I can quite interpret – but she doesn't resist when I slide off her and maneuver us both so that she's sitting in my lap. I wrap my arms around her – she doesn't seem to object, but she doesn't lean into me, either.

"Did you – _really _– think I'd fall into bed with someone else tonight?"

"I know what you said earlier – but – it's easy to say something one moment and then in another moment do the opposite, even if you really meant what you said when you said it. Sometimes – sometimes if you don't think something could even happen anyway, it's easy to say you wouldn't want it, just because you're not expecting it – but then if the opportunity presents itself – it would be hard to resist. I could understand that," that last is barely a whisper. (And suddenly I wonder who broke up with who, her or that philandering weasel she'd been engaged to, little Dr. Fuckmook from med school.)

But she's right, I didn't expect Paula to kiss me, even if we had been flirting – I mean, come on, I flirt with _Milo_, for Christ's sake. Well, ok, Paula doesn't know that, but I still didn't expect her to take me seriously. After the Day of the Dead, I never expected _any _woman to look at me like that again. I don't know how Beth does it – I don't really know why Paula wanted me to come home with her, not unless Beth is really right about there being someone else who could… yeah. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think too hard about what Paula _really_ meant about not letting her emotions get in the way – what that might imply about before. Because I do get it now. I didn't then – but I do now. I understand exactly why she was angry – hurt – by my not visiting her while she was laid up. That was when it finally dawned on her that I was not emotionally involved at all. She had finally figured out that she really was just someone I fucked (which isn't quite true, I really did spend more time with her than I did most people – but I there was absolutely no emotional investment, not on my part, not after Holly.)

"Sheldon?" I only barely hear Beth's voice.

"Sorry – I was – in my own head."

"Did you hear me at least?"

"Yeah. I heard you loud and clear." She doesn't owe me anything. She really believed that I would fall into bed with Paula. She really thinks that even if I didn't, I might honestly have been 'there' instead of 'here' when I kissed her… and Christ, that fucking hurts. I have everything I want right here – but I still don't really have it, not if she doesn't trust me, not if she can't at least take me at my word. I _know_ I'm a prick, an asshole, a real royal jerk and a rat – but I _never_ promised any kind of anything to Paula. She knew that when I was out with other women it might just lead to the ol' horizontal mambo. If she got emotionally involved – well that just wasn't my fault. I've never lied to her about the kind of person I am... and I haven't lied to Beth, either. Which is why I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that when it comes down to it, she really doesn't trust me… after all, I _am_ the bad guy.

"I – I know I don't have the right to expect – anything," Beth's voice is so soft I almost miss that.

"Well – for all it's worth, I _didn't_ go home with Paula tonight – she offered but – I didn't go. I didn't want to. But I _do_ have an early day tomorrow – so – maybe we should both just get some sleep." Maybe this is why I don't get involved, why I don't let my guard down or let other people in. Even when it seems good, it still fucking hurts like Hell.

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok," I lie.

"Please don't – "

"I understand," I shrug at her. "And it's really ok." I don't want her to know that I'm hurt. I don't want her to know how fucking easy it was for her to hurt me. Just a few words and I'm down for the count, six two and even, stick a fork in me, I'm done. Mr. Tough Guy… yeah. Right. I fish around in my pockets until I find what's left of my pack of smokes.

"I just – I didn't think you were really a – a monogamous kind of guy – and that's ok, I can live with that. I really do get it that sex is just sex, it doesn't have to mean anything."

(My own words, biting me in the ass, how fucking lovely.)

"I guess I just figured that an exclusive type thing was what you wanted," I tell her – there's a real frosty edge to my tone, despite my best efforts to keep it at bay. "Maybe I was wrong." And maybe we should have talked about it, but I just _assumed. _I just knew I didn't want anybody else. I even told her that. But who in their right mind would believe a guy like me, anyway?

"You weren't wrong. I've meant everything I've said – about you. About – this. But – I really would take – _whatever_ you were willing to give – just as long as you're still willing to give me something."

Except that I can't seem to get her to accept the only things I have, a shred of honesty, a little loyalty – that's _all _I've fucking got. I know it isn't much, but doesn't it count for something that it's all there is? She asked me to take it one day at a time. I am. I'm trying. I'm even trying to tell myself that there has to be some way to fix this, some way not to lose her – because as much as it hurts, it would hurt a whole fuck of a lot more if I got back from my little Southwestern excursionto find her gone…

Was I really so wrong to come clean with her about Paula? It _seemed_ like the right thing to do – but I'm not so good at figuring out the right thing. It isn't the sort of thing I've exactly made a habit of… "I'm tired," I at least manage a neutral tone. "How about we just call it a night and get some sleep –?" Yeah, like that's going to happen. I'm going to lie here and pick apart every conversation we've had since she arrived. I'm going to toss and turn and get up and ramble around the condo trying to figure out where exactly things went wrong tonight. And tomorrow, Heaven help my little assistant because every little thing is going to piss me off… oh right, like he'll notice the difference… and Beth still hasn't moved. "Come on – I'm serious. It's late."

"Please just tell me that I haven't screwed this up completely."

"We'll talk in the morning."

"I'm really sorry, Sheldon. I – I just want you to know that," she says – then she leans in and kisses my cheek.Why does it feel more like good bye than good night?

_Nothing worthwhile is ever easy… _I guess the more worthwhile it is, the less easy it has to be to – otherwise where would the balance be?

And – yeah, after she goes upstairs, I really do spend the rest of the night dissecting every fucking conversation Beth and I have had, starting with the very first words out of her mouth when I woke up in her kitchen on the Day of the Dead…

Cold as the northern winds  
in December mornings,  
Cold is the cry that rings  
from this far distant shore.  
Winter has come too late  
too close beside me.  
How can I chase away  
all these fears deep inside?  
I'll wait the signs to come.  
I'll find a way  
I will wait the time to come.  
I'll find a way home.  
My light shall be the moon  
and my path - the ocean.  
My guide the morning star  
as I sail home to you.  
I'll wait the signs to come.  
I'll find a way.  
I will wait the time to come.  
I'll find a way home.  
Who then can warm my soul?  
Who can quell my passion?  
Out of these dreams a boat  
I will sail home to you.

Enya/Roma Ryan


	37. The Morning After the Night Before

**Thank you for the reviews! Whew, I swear those last couple of chapters were draining (but in a good way, if that makes sense.)**

_Sands-Agent_ - I meant to say this before, but got caught up in getting that last chapter out- if you do ever get the chance to see Phantom, it's worth it. I never saw it in Toronto, but I caught it a couple years ago here in Detroit - and it's an amazing play.

**Chapter Thirty Six:**

_The morning after the night before… _

The last time I'm aware of hearing that fucking clock chime it's four-thirty. Just the same, I'm not real surprised when the sound of soft foot-falls on the stairs wakes me. I don't know what time it is – but my alarm was set for six-thirty and it hasn't gone off yet.

"I'm – sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," Beth says, very, _very_ softly. Kinda like she's expecting me to take her head off.

I just shrug; I can't really call lying here not consciously aware of my surroundings 'sleeping' anyway. "Time?"

"A little before six."

"You sleep at all?" I ask.

"Not really. Sheldon – I – "

"Let's get some coffee," I cut her off, probably a little more briskly than I mean to – I'm just not real with it. You know, that whole lack of sleep thing – oh yeah, that and feeling like someone dumped my insides into a blender and hit fucking frappe.

Beth doesn't argue.

While she gets the coffee going, I dig around in the cupboard where I keep my smokes – and remember that I already went through my last pack and of course I forgot to buy more. What a fucking fantastic way to start an already bad day… then, miraculously, I find a lit cigarette being put into my hand. My angel. "Muchas garseeas," I give her my absolute worse Spanish accent. It earns me only very small laugh. Sounds like her insides are as churned up as mine.

The cigarette is followed shortly by a cup of coffee, just the way I like it.

It's also followed by a whole lot of silence.

I listen to her get her own coffee together – then she sits down (me, I'm just leaning against the counter trying to decide what I really want to say. I've had all night to think, to mull the whole thing over. I don't know that I've come up with anything particularly brilliant – but I know I can't let deal with this much fucking silence.)

After I finish my smoke, I join Beth at the table. "Do you think we can just forget about it?" I ask her. It's a tactic I've only tried once or twice before – never with any real success. Holly wasn't the sort of woman who could let _anything_ just fucking drop. Beth on the other hand, seems almost too good at dropping the subject (I mean, all I asked her was if we could get some coffee, not for total radio silence.)

"Forget about – 'it'?" Beth asks; she sounds – hmmm – pensive pops into my mind as a good word to describe her tone. Petrified is another word I might use, if I was on a consonance kick… yeah, it's too fucking early, I haven't slept and my mind is doing some very strange things…

… like forgetting to speak in full sentences, so the other guy has half a chance at understanding the question. "Last night." I gulp down some more caffeine. Right now it doesn't feel as if all the coffee in the world will help – lack of sleep really isn't the big problem.

"What – exactly about last night – " she still sounds real unsure of herself. Or me. Or us. Or Life the Universe and Everything. Or all of the above…

I force myself to take a breath and try to form some coherent thoughts. "Do you think we could just – pretend it never happened? Just take it back to me coming in – and forget about the rest?" Forget about Paula Basil kissing me… forget about me kissing her back, even if the only reason I did was because I was too startled to do anything else… forget about me telling Beth about Paula… forget about everything that happened after I came home… I want to forget about that more than any of the rest of it, but I can't do it if she doesn't agree.

"I'm not as good at that as you are," she says, softly. "But – I don't like sitting here wondering if you're really going to come back from wherever it is you're going, either."

_I'll be back…_ somehow I don't think my Arnold Schwarzenegger imitation will help. It's not even very good… "Milo said something to me – back in Mexico. I didn't believe him at the time – but I'm starting to."

Nothing. (Actually, if I could see her, I imagine her expression would say volumes about what she's feeling…but of course, here I am operating in the dark, just exactly where I don't like to be.)

I ignore the nothing, and the helpless feeling that goes with being stuck here in the dark. "I didn't go home with Paula last night because I knew I had someone waiting for me – and Milo was right about how good that really feels, how it changes everything."

"It does?"

"Yes. I mean, _maybe_ if you weren't here, and I don't just mean in D.C., if I'd never met you, I might've gone home with Paula last night – I don't know." All know is that it's too late to start lying to her about that possibility. "But – I don't need _her_ if I've got you – and according to you, I really do get the girl, right?" I need to hear her say it again, just one more time… just to convince myself that after last night she'll be here when I get back…

But Beth doesn't say a word.

"You change your mind about something, there Darlin'?" My tone might be flippant – but inside? Oh fuck me, if she says yes…

Her 'no' is only barely audible.

I let out the breath I was holding – and realize she's not done:

"But – I'm really not reading more into this thing than I know there really is, Sheldon – honestly, I'm _not_. I know it isn't even much – how could it be, right? We barely know each other and I know I came here without a plan – or even a clue – and I'm sorry – so sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like – like I was trying to pressure you into anything. I know – I know I don't have the right to expect anything at all – I really don't expect anything – "

"Beth – I asked you to move in with me. That gives you the right to expect a few things – it gives you the right to expect a little loyalty, at the very least." My Christ – has she really always let men walk all over her, I wonder… If I told her she was right, that I didn't owe her anything, that I was going to just go out and do whatever and there was nothing she could do to stop me – would she really put up with it? Would she really take '_whatever I was willing to give'_…?

"Yes."

"Than you've gotta understand that I don't have much to give," I give up. Either she really can read my mind – or I'm as fucking transparent as cellophane. "I can be honest with you about stuff like last night. I can tell you that she kissed me – and it was a fucking shock. But I _didn't_ go home with her. I'm no prize. But you've got me – and – and that's just the way it is. I just need you to believe that." _I need you to be the same woman who came out into the snow looking for me – who made me believe in happy endings._

"You wanna hear something funny?"

It doesn't sound like whatever it is, is humerous, per se.

"What's that?"

"My gut kept telling me you weren't going to – you know. It kept telling me to trust you, I just couldn't convince myself that a guy like you could ever really want me, not when you had someone else _right there. _I mean – it's one thing to take what you think you can get, if what you really want isn't available – but once you figured out that it was, I was just so sure you'd – rather have her. And I wasn't even sure it was her, Paula, but it made sense, with what I kept feeling. I knew it had to be someone close to you. Someone right there, right under your nose. You just had to figure it out for yourself – and once you did – " she shudders – it sounds like she's trying real hard not to start crying. It sounds like she did a lot of that last night after she went to bed. "I'll bet she's beautiful – and sophisticated – and – everything that I'm not."

"When she walks into a room, head's turn," I admit. "But – _you_ have my attention in a way she never did."

Nothing.

But I think I know what she's thinking – she's not going to say it (Beth never would, she's way too gracious). One of us, however, has to. "Even if I could see – you would _still_ have my full attention, Ange." _You have my heart and the rest just doesn't matter…_

"You – can't be sure – "

I reach out and cup Beth's face with my hand – she almost falls right into me, shaking. "Yes I can," I run my fingers over the contours of her face – her little nose, those high cheek bones and her soft lips... I imagine those green eyes of hers, the blond hair, tanned skin… "You _are_ beautiful," I offer her a smile that I hope conveys all the things I just don't know how to say out loud.

"I am so sorry I didn't trust you. I wanted to – but – when you said I was right about there being someone else – I just – it scared me. I didn't think about anything else you'd said, earlier, I just thought – about how I was right, she was there – and of course you'd want her over me. I thought that even if you hadn't gone home with her – that it was only because – because you had asked me to stay and so you felt – obligated to me. But I don't want loyalty just because you feel obligated. Sex is just sex. It doesn't have to mean anything. I'm really not some virgin mother over here, you know."

"I know," I don't really know, but – yeah. I don't want to know, so I'm just going to take her at her word.

"What I said – what I asked you about really being 'here' – that was really stupid. I know it hurt you. And I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am – I should have just trusted you. Please – I am really so very sorry, Sheldon –"

"It's ok," and this time I think it really is.

"No it's not. I'm sorry."

"Beth – it's_ ok_, you don't have to keep apologizing."

"Sorry – I – sorry," she seems to be completely stumbling over her tongue. "I – I'm not used to being forgiven so easily. I mean – you – do – don't you?" she sounds almost afraid to ask.

"Yes. I should've been more – " _more fucking sensitive to how scared I knowyou are too…_ "I shouldn't've come onto you like that right after dropping it on you that Paula had come onto me. I wasn't thinking of her when I kissed you - I wasn't anywhere but right there, right with you." _You are everything I could ever want…_

"Does that mean – eventually you might even want to kiss me again?"

She can't be serious – but – I really think she is (she sure sounds it). I pull Beth forward and show her just what a silly question that really is…and oh does it feel good to have her so close. If I wasn't afraid to scare her off again, I really would like nothing more than to make love to every inch of her right here in the kitchen. I want her in ways I can't even begin to express…

Somehow we both miss the sound of approaching footsteps and it's only the sound of a throat clearing that tells me I've been snuck up on by my own daughter. Crap.

"You know, Shelly – seeing something like that first thing in the morning could really scar up my youthful psyche for life."

Oh goodie – not only is she a sneak, she's a smart ass, too. Oh – right – this is _my_ daughter we're talking about. (I think Beth is blushing – just something about the way she pulled back with a little bit of a startled gasp...) I smile in Emma's direction, "Morning to you too, Sunshine." That smile I'm giving her isn't what you'd call a friendly smile – but I'm pretty sure that by now she's not the least bit threatened by my cheerful demeanor. (If I had any doubt, the odd little smirky-snort Em gives me confirms the belief that my daughter isn't the least bit afraid of me. Swell. A _little_ fear might be nice… )

"Maybe I should – think about getting breakfast started," Beth sounds like she's still blushing.

"Count me out," I tell her. "I – have a date."

Now I'm sure Emma's looking at me funny… Beth doesn't say anything. Double crap.

"I had to bump that lunch date to a breakfast," I explain in Beth's direction. "Otherwise I'd have the guy who set it up for me hounding me from now til the cows come home."

"Cows, Shelly?"

Emma's in a mood – I favour her with a bit of a smirk. "I need to talk to you – other room. Now."

She gives me an exaggerated sigh – but as soon as she's got herself a cup of coffee, she marches. I wait until she's gone to return my attention to Beth, "I'm sorry – about missing breakfast. I know it's gotta feel like I'm never going to have any time to spend with you – and there's a lot we still need to talk about – "

"It's ok. I know it's just work. As long as you tell me you're coming back –"

"I'd rather be here than anywhere else."

"You really do mean that, don't you?"

"I – can't exactly say that I don't lie, Ange – just ask anyone, I'm the biggest bullshitter you'll ever meet. But I won't lie to you." _Not ever again…_

"I'll hold you to that, you know."

"Good," I lean in and press my lips to hers. Hey, somebody has to keep me honest…

I'm not quite sure we're both completely ok, not yet – she's still a little shaky, but I think there's still an us. I think there's a woman right here who really wants me –_ me_ for Christ's sake. And she's a woman whose kiss makes the rest of the world vanish around me…

"I'm waiting – " that, of course, is Emma in the next room.

"Remind me to strangle her real damn soon," I mutter at Beth.

She just chuckles and kisses me again, "You ah – you want me to throw some cloths together for you?"

"You wouldn't mind?" I admit it, I'm totally surprised by the offer. I wouldn't have expected – the generosity, even out of an angel.

"Just give me an idea what you need."

I shrug, "Whatever – I'll only be gone a few days."

"So – jeans – t-shirts – guns?"

I can't quite tell if she's being factitious – or if she really just gets me… "Yeah, basic wardrobe. Clean underwear would be nice."

"I'm a mother – clean underwear and socks are a given."

"Yeah. Right. I forget about stuff like that," I lean in and press my lips to hers one more time – I mean, she's less than five inches away, who could resist such a temptation? (I meant what I said about needing to touch her – needing to really force myself to believe she's really real, really here. Really not going anywhere.)

"You'd better go – the 'natives are restless'," Beth tells me then.

And yeah, I the background, I can hear Emma tapping her fingers against the doorframe…

……………

"So what's going on?" Em asks me as we settle ourselves on the sofa.

I'm not quite sure what she's asking about – something tells me she's more aware of what went on last night than I'd like to think. "I've gotta head out of town for a few days," I decide to just go with what I had to say and ignore any teenaged curiosity.

"Where?"

"Can't say," I light up a cigarette – Beth was kind enough to give me her pack to tide me over until I can stop and get some more of my own. "ButI need you to keep an eye on Beth and Cicily for me."

"Shouldn't you be asking Beth to keep an eye on me?"

"I'm asking you to keep an eye on each other," I tell her. "She's got this husband – "

"She's_ married_?"

"They're separated. _Very_ separated." Still not separated enough for me… "He doesn't know where she is – but that doesn't mean he won't find out. So – just – be careful. I get the feeling the guy's a real wing-nut." I don't really want to scare her, but…

"Ok," she sounds kind of dubious.

"They're _getting _divorced," I'm not sure why, but I feel like I need to clarify the point.

"_Ok_."

"Em – "

"I just assumed she was single, that's all."

"She left him three years ago and ran all the way to Mexico. As far as I'm concerned, she is single." And a single bullet would solve the problem once and for all…

"Um – can I ask how much of this Cicily knows?"

I shrug, "I'm not sure what Beth's told her – but she told me that Cicily barely remembers her father." And I still wish Beth would just let me handle it my way… it would be so much easier than a divorce… and I suppose while we're on the subject of family, I go ahead and tell my little muffin about my conversation with Eddas regarding her grandparents… "But I've met the old man and I really wouldn't put anything past him, so – just stay on your toes. I'll be getting in touch with this attorney friend of my boss's," I add, just to reinforce that she's really not going anywhere, with anyone.

"Ok," is all Emma says – but sometimes that one word really is enough. "Anything else?"

"It would be nice if you took it easy on Beth while I was gone," I tell her, "You know, none of that Diamanda whatever just as she settles in to take a bath." I swear I came out of the bathroom ready to shoot something when Emma did that to me…

Emma giggles – apparently she finds the memory of that incident a whole fuck of a lot more amusing than I do… but, "I'll play nice," she assures me.

And if she's anything like me, I think it's safe to assume that she will. If she really wanted to get rid of Beth, she wouldn't be able to tease me the way she did about catching us swapping spit. I listen a minute to the rest of the house – but everything is quiet. More importantly, Beth is upstairs packing for me and well out of earshot. "I want you guys to stick around the house as much as possible – and stay together – but ah – the climate in Mexico is a wee bit warmer than it is here, so you think you could help me out and let Beth think she's taking you shopping so I can talk her into getting boots and coats, whatever?"

"As long as you tell me which one of us you're really trying to cajole into new cloths."

Caught with my hand in the cookie jar… "Both of you," I level with her. "I'm not going to tell you how to dress – and I'll tell that to Beth too – but even if I don't entirely trust my lovely sister's assessment of your wardrobe, I'm a little afraid of what your mother let you get away with."

I actually get a little bit of a laugh out of her – and I can let out that breath I was holding. I'm never quite sure how to talk to Em when it comes to her mother – I really don't relate to death the way I'm pretty sure other people do.

"I suppose any opportunity to go to the mall with your blessing is too good to pass up," Emma's still smiling.

My blessing, my ass… "And I can trust that like any good teenager you know where your old man keeps his dough?"

"Dough? Did we suddenly slip back thirty years?"

"Don't get cute."

She laughs. At me.

The fucking joys of parenthood… "And remember – don't open the door for anyone, no matter who they work for or what kind of ID they show you. Stick together – I'll be checking in at least once a day – and I want Beth to get a cell phone of her own."

"Shelly – we'll be fine."

"All right. Just – promise you'll call me if you need anything – or if you see something suspicious, even if it doesn't seem like anything – anything could be something."

"We'll be_ fine_ – besides what could you do anyway –?"

Right. "I don't care. Call me if something comes up."

"All right – I'll call. But we'll be fine – and you're just going to be gone a few days, right?"

"I should be back Friday night."

I hear a little bit of silence – then, "Be careful out there, ok?"

I just smile, "I'll be fine, I'm not planning on getting into too much trouble."

I leave Emma to go upstairs to get in a quick shower only to find that Cicily is awake… Beth has already explained that I'm going to be away for a few days (I suppose she had to say something about packing a bag for me) – but I go ahead and tell her myself anyway. There are no tears – but I can tell that she's pretty unhappy about my leaving.

"I'll be back before you know it," I promise. A promise I really am going to keep.

Cicily pulls closer to me (I'm sitting on the bed with her – which just always strikes me as a little weird. I mean, come on, I'm a menace, I'm no good with kids – I don't even like them. But here I am…) "I missed you a lot last night," she says quietly, almost like she doesn't quite want Beth to hear. "Reading with you was my favourite part of bedtime after you came." And I can almost hear the unspoken fear that she's not going to get the chance to read to me any more.Talk about heart-strings getting tugged…

"Tell you what – I'll call tonight – maybe you can read to me a little over the phone before you go to bed."

"Promise?"

"Promise," I give the top of her head a little kiss. I'm really not good with kids – but there is something about this one that gets to me.

"Why don't you go downstairs," Beth suggests quietly. "I'll be there in a minute."

With a parting hug, Cicily lets me go and heads on down…

"Something up?" I inquire.

"I just – wanted a couple of minutes alone with you before you took off for parts unknown."

"Oh?" I try to sound casual – I don't think it's working. (And really, I'm kidding – after last night I don't know if I'm ever going to get off the couch, but we'll just blow that bridge up when we come to it.)

Beth giggles, "Not quite what I had in mind, Cowboy – not that I find the idea objectionable."

"Really?" I'm serious.

"_Really_." Apparently she realizes it.

I hold my hand out – Beth takes it and I pull her down to the bed next to me, "I do want this," I tell her, pulling her closer, so that she's tucked in next to me. "I want you – I don't quite know how I'm going to pull it off – but there isn't anything I wouldn't do to get the girl."

"I really am sorry about last night. I should have trusted you – should have trusted my instincts –"

I just shake my head and offer up my best Brooklyn accent, "Forged-abod-it, - wattah undah dah bridge," and I get a little bit more of a laugh out of her. (I really would like to know when I turned into a fucking comedian…)

"How can you let me off the hook so easily? I know I hurt you –"

"Shhhh – " I pull her closer. "We're both stumbling through this – trying to figure it out. And I just can't imagine being mad at you, especially while I'm gone." I really don't want to go… but the sooner I get this over with the sooner – what? A white picket fence in the suburbs? Yeah – right. However… "Do – do you think I could ask you to do me a favour? It's pretty big."

"What do you need?"

"I – only have the use of this place through the end of the year. And – I'm – not real good at – I mean, you know – I just go through an agency and rent something furnished and move in and live there for a few months and then I'm gone again. The couple of places that I have that are more long term I'm hardly at anyway – and – well – yeah. You wanna – maybe – " guess Beth isn't the only one who babbles…

"You want me to find you a place to live."

"I want you to find _us _a place."

Quiet.

"What did you really think I was going to do when Milo's beau came home and wanted his pad back?" Did she think – I'd what? Move out and leave her to fend for herself?

"I was just going to play it by ear – see what happened. I told you – I'm not – I'm just not assuming anything. I came here without a clue or any kind of plan –"

"So how about now you start assuming a couple of things," it isn't really a question.

I hear her hesitate before she asks about just what kinds of things I want her to assume.

"For one, I'll always take care of you, Ange. Both of you. Even if you decide you don't want it to be with me – "

"Sheldon – "

"I just don't ever want you to think that you're stuck with me, ok? I only want you staying here as long as you really want to – " as long as being here with me really makes her happy… Yeah, right, _next_… but she must like _something _about me or she wouldn't be here, it's just that fuck if I can figure out what that something might be.

"Being around you does make me happy," Beth says – real softly-like.

She is one freaky lady some days. "I just don't ever want you to feel trapped, that's all. You'll always have a way out if you want it."

"And since I don't want it?"

(I do like the sound of that…) "Since you don't want it – even if I weren't hip deep in shit, I'm really not the person you want finding new digs." I have every confidence that she'll be a whole lot happier in a place she picks out than in anything I'd come up with. I mean, I'm all for the creature comforts, but pretty much four walls and a roof are all I really ever look for. (Just a place to hang my hat…)

"I don't mind doing the looking, but you have to give me some kind of idea what you want," she says – and there's just something about her tone – I can't put my finger on it – but – I'm not sure, she seems awfully hesitant about something.

"I'm going to be stuck in D.C. for a while – so the closer to 'the office' the better." Because even after the worst is over, I have the feeling that it's going to take a while for the dust to really settle. "Just make it somewhere where I won't have to worry about leaving you guys alone – "

"Fort Knox rents rooms?"

"Very funny," although I appreciate the fact that she can keep a sense of humour about her – I just wish I knew why she was so hesitant. I mean it is a big favour, but wherever we end up, she's the one who has to _look_ at the place. (Hell, even when I could see, I wasn't real picky about aesthetics.) "How about sticking around this neighbourhood?" I suggest. "This place is pretty much big enough – area seems quiet – there's that park near by – and it's close to downtown." And Milo asked me not to vanish on him… wonder if having me as a neighbour was what he really had in mind… heh.

But – Beth is back to being quiet.

"Or not –" I shrug – ok, I can't see, maybe there's something hugely objectionable that I wouldn't notice about the neighbourhood. (Which is why I'm trying to leave this decision in her hands – but I keep getting the feeling that even though she's agreed to it, she doesn't really want to do it.)

"Sheldon do you have any idea how expensive this neighbourhood has got to be?"

"Uh – no."

"I don't know for sure – but it can't be cheap."

"But do you like the place?"

"I love it – but that's not really the point – "

"Then what is?"

"I – I'm just trying to get an idea of what you're looking for – " she stops mid-sentence. I know why.

I wave off her 'slip' – it's not what's got me irritated anyway. "House, condo, apartment – it's all the same to me, just pick something close to downtown, ok? Pick a place you won't mind living in for a while – something _you_ like. I'm just not real partial to a lot of stairs – fire place might be nice, though." Curling up with her in front of a fire, a bottle of wine… her buck naked on a bear skin rug… don't care if I can't see it, I could picture it… but oh, wait, I can't see, guess I'd have to feel my way around… yeah, a fire place could be real nice… "Oh – yeah, and wherever we end up, we have to take into consideration Emma's little zoo."

I get almost a laugh – then, "Um – how many bedrooms?" she asks.

"I'll leave that up to you. But I don't think we should ask our offspring to share a room."

"That's not what I'm asking and you know it."

"You're the one who said you didn't want to play house."

"That was – I didn't mean – I just didn't want you to think I'd come here with my head full of stupid ideas. I never – assumed – anything, no matter what you think."

I don't think it would be in my best interest to point out that she came up here assuming plenty of things, it's just that none of them were good… "The only thing I have to say – well, two things really – one, is that I won't force the issue. My ass will stay on the sofa until you invite me into the bedroom – I have never, ever forced myself on anyone, even if I did get a little over aggressive last night. I didn't mean to – it's just – you are really irresistible," and I'm only half teasing.

She laughs just a little, "I really didn't mind. I just – I got scared – that made me stupid – and I really am sorry."

Well, I'm the one who brought up last night, so I can't get mad at her for apologizing again. "It's ok – but the other thing I wanted to say is don't expect me to be able to keep my hands to myself if you ask me to share the bed with you. I wanted to make love to you the first time we kissed, and if Milo hadn't been standing out on your veranda waiting for me, I would have, too, right there in your hall – if you'd've let me. I would have given almost anything for just a couple of hours more with you that night."

"You could barely walk."

"Hey, I didn't say it was one of my brightest ideas, there Ange."

"No – but – I would have enjoyed it very much if you had had a couple more hours to spend with me that night."

Ok, sounds like an invitation… I brush her hair out of the way and kiss the back of her neck, very gently – I really do love the little sounds she makes, especially when I start nibbling. And just as I'm starting to almost get a little carried away, I hear the clock chiming down stairs, reminding me that there's somewhere I have to be, real damn soon.

"I know – you have another 'date'," she pulls away gently, before I have a chance to say anything.

(Beth doesn't sound upset, but…) "Marcus isn't the kinda guy to go sticking his nose into other people's shit. If he's worried enough to arrange a 'date' between me and his daughter – she's an attorney – " I add quickly.

"I caught part of that yesterday. What's he worried about?"

"He doesn't think I should trust Eddas. Milo says she's for real. They're both men whose judgment I value – so it's kinda like being stuck between the Devil and the deep blue sea. If I make the wrong choice – I'm screwed."

"What does your gut tell you?"

I roll over onto my back – I really do need to get my ass in gear, but damn it, I_ like_ being here. I'm comfortable – happy, even given that last question she asked me. "Beth – my instincts betrayed me big time – I'm having a hard time trusting them again. But I'd welcome any insight from my favourite p-syhic." (Yes, I pronounced the 'p'.)

She chuckles softly at me (although if I _did_ believe in that voodoo-hocus-pocus stuff, I might find some irony in the fact that between us, we still have ten senses, it's just divided up six and four instead of an even fifty-fifty.) I feel her readjust herself a little on the bed – and then I feel her running her fingers through my hair. It's a very pleasant sensation.

"I only talked to Marlina Eddas for a few minutes on the phone yesterday," Beth tells me – her tone is thoughtful. "But I really do think she's 'for real.' I just don't want you to trust her on my feelings alone – it's not an exact thing, I'm not always right. Besides, you really have to learn to trust yourself again, Cowboy."

And of course I know Beth is right, I'm just not sure I know how to do it. "Eddas has more to gain from working with me than screwing me over. But Marcus seemed convinced that she'd screw me royally. He's been in D.C. for years, so if anyone would know about her and the DOJ it's him – except that Milo's boy works in her office and she and my little Sugar Butt seemed awful chummy – so it's hard to imagine she'd screw him over by screwing me over. Except how do I trust someone when I can't look anyone in the eyes? How do I trust_ anyone _when, even when I could still look someone in the eyes, I still missed – everything – ? I could see – but I still didn't see it coming."

"I think – I think you let yourself be blindsided by a manipulative and dangerous woman – a duplicitous woman. I think you got screwed over by the people you trusted to warn you about things like that – the people who set you up. They knew you'd believe them if they told you she was ok."

"I still should have seen it coming." I don't mean for that to come out as rancorous as it does – but Beth seems to understand – or at the very least, she lets me rant. "I just shouldn't have ever let my guard down like that. I was thinking with the wrong fucking head – and look what it got me."

"Sheldon – you said you had this woman checked out and it came back that she was ok. And – I kind of don't think that this guy who betrayed you like that had any idea what was really going to happen to you."

"You aren't honestly suggesting that I _shouldn't_ want to see Collins hanging high, are you?"

"I'll never judge you."

My turn to give her nothing. I really need her to answer this question…

"I think this guy Collins broke the law – broke your trust. And I think you'd be surprised by what I _really _think ought to happen to him."

"Care to share?"

Beth leans in and brushes her lips against mine, very lightly, "It really might be too much for you if you ever noticed that it's a pair of horns holding up that halo – and the white feathers are held on by scotch tape."

I return her kiss, running my fingers lightly over her face – I let my touch wander into her hair, "Sorry, Ange – no horns," and I wonder if she'll ever figure out just how much I need her...

"Go take your shower," Beth says several long (wonderful) moments later – she's still so close I can feel her lips moving against mine. "I'll call you a cab."

I feel her start to sit up and catch her by the arms, "Let me ask you something first – ?" I at least try to make it sound like a question.

"Hmm?"

"What – why are you so good – why do you take care of me like this?"

"You said you minored in psychology – what do you think?"

She's not really trying to be coy – I think she just wonders if I've figured it out for myself. "I think you said it the other night – you need to feel useful. I think youneed to be needed."

"That's why I went into medicine," she confirms my suspicions.

"And it's why you keep ending up with all the worst men." Men like me…

"Not all of them have been like Neal, Cowboy. I've made a couple of good decisions along the way. Like you."

"I'm not a good guy, Ange."

"And I'm not an angel," she leans in and kisses my cheek, very softly (I swear, her kisses turn my insides to jello.)

Downstairs, the clock chimes again… damn. "Would you give Tonto a call too?" I ask as she gets up.

"Tonto?"

"Ryan Moss – Eddas idea of a practical joke, I think."

"Oh?"

"I'm not sure, but the boy just might be as far removed from yours truly as it is humanly possible to get."

"Um – hmmm."

She doesn't sound convinced – but I really don't have time to discus the finer points of my assistant's personality – as the white rabbit once said, _I'm late!_ "His number's in my phone – could you ask him to swing by here and pick up my bag on his way into the office – ?"

"You're going to make that poor boy earn every penny of his salary, aren't you?"

I favour her with a bit of a smirk, "So I'll send him a fruit basket." And – I head into the bathroom to take my shower. I end up standing under the hot water for a lot longer than I have time for – but I've got a lot to think about and it's not all pleasant…

Trust my instincts, she says… and I know she's right. I have to learn to trust myself again, or I really will end up a dead man.


	38. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

**Chapter Thirty Seven:**

_Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea _

"I hope you're not always this late, Mr. Sands," my 'date' stands to greet me (I hear the chair scrap as she gets up.)

"It ah – was one of those mornings," I offer up a charming little smile – probably the kind of smile her old man has warned her all about. I also offer her my hand – dead on to where I know she is. "Is it still Lewin?" I ask – Marcus didn't mention if there was a son in law in the picture…

"Yes. But Lucile is fine."

"Not Lucy?" I smirk.

"No."

Ooh, ice. I politely wait for her to sit back down before taking the chair across from her. Spencer settles quietly at my feet, just under the table. (We're in a quiet little upscale diner – just the kind of place I'd expect a high priced lawyer to have her morning eggs.)

"You seem to be getting along well," Lucile observes, "My father said I should get the details from you – but that you had only recently lost your sight –?"

She definitively doesn't have her father's charm – in fact she doesn't have his accent either. I wonder if she trained herself out of it – or if she grew up somewhere other than Texas. "About a month ago," I answer her question – our waitress arrives. (Oh yeah, and on Beth's 'gentle instance' I'm wearing a dress shirt and suit – she tells me the shirt is burgundy and that by the time I get back from my trip that orange shirt will be history. She did give me her word that she wouldn't touch my t-shirts, thought – apparently there's just something about orange she doesn't like, something about not wanting to think about me in an orange jumpsuit for the rest of my life. With that in mind, I don't think I'm going to miss that orange shirt one bit… However, back to the moment at hand…) I ask the waitress for a cup of coffee – still think of Belini when I order coffee – and she asks if we're ready to order food.

"Do you need a minute?" Lucile inquires – down right politely, too.

"Nah – pretty much every place around her serves eggs – over, bacon, white toast," I turn my head in the general direction of the waitress offering up a polite little smile as I hand her the menu that was sitting on my place mat.

(Lewin gets some sort of fruit dish thing – sounds entirely too healthy for my taste.) "So – what exactly caused your blindness?" She says after the waitress departs.

"Ahh – yeah. You probably don't want to hear about that over breakfast. Let's talk about something else instead."

"Such as?"

"Such as – I have no idea how much you know about – well, anything."

"I know who my father works for, Mr. Sands – or should I be calling you officer?"

"Technically I'm suspended – I'm expecting to end up with a medical retirement."

"You sound very optimistic."

No, I'm a good bullshitter… "Under the circumstances – I'm no good in the field and even if I wanted to sit behind a desk – I still wouldn't be very useful there either."

"So you have no vision at all?"

"Yeah – yeah, you could say that." My coffee arrives – I offer the waitress a polite 'thank you' smile and listen to her retreat before continuing, "And before you ask, it's irreversible." I manage to get the words out in a completely neutral tone. I think I deserve a pat on the back for _that_. It takes me just a moment to locate the sugar – unlike the fake stuff, you can feel the graininess of the sugar in the packet. Zach taught me that – which reminds me, I need to ask Milo for his address so I can send him a fruit basket… I really was a miserable student.

"Job related injury, I presume?" (I wonder if she was watching me – studying me – or just politely going about her business trying not to stare at the blind guy.)

"Yes," I affirm.

"All right," it sounds like she's getting out a pad of paper and pen to take notes. "Let's talk about the charges that have been brought against you – my dad filled me in on what he knew, but I'd like to get it from you."

I play along and list off the charges as I remember them. I even try to sound serious about it. She asks some questions – most of which I really can't answer (well, I _could_, but – yeah, I'm in enough hot water as it is. At this rate, by the time I end up dealing with some family court judge I'll be so good at saying, 'Sorry Sugar that's classified' I won't even have to think about it… hope I don't end up with some old codger of a judge, that could just be awkward, with me calling him Sugar…)

"And you're really expecting to walk away from all this with a medical retirement?" she sounds skeptical. (Our food arrived a while ago and I don't know about her, but I'm about half way through my eggs. Lucy over there seems to be doing more writing than eating – of course if I had the grapefruit and melon bowl in front of me, I wouldn't be real interested in eating, either…)

"Your old man tell you I've been moonlighting at the DOJ?" I inquire.

"He was a little vague about that, other than telling me I needed to talk you out of doing anything stupid."

"I think it's probably a wee bit late for that, Sweet Stuff – but ah – my boss lady tells me I'm going to need an attorney present when she hauls my ass in front of a federal judge – "

"Have you signed anything?"

"What sort of anything?"

"Any sort of anything."

"Not really – why?"

"Because if you haven't signed something, not only don't you have _any_ kind of legal protection – no deal, no nothing. I really hope you get that. The days of a handshake are long gone and verbal contracts are only worth the price of the paper they're written on."

Gee, I wonder if she could have said that any more clearly… I just give her one of my little smiles.

"But the good news is that even if the other side wants to say you've got a deal in place, I can get you out of any kind of verbal arrangement you've made – but never, ever agree to anything again without a lawyer present. Never even open your mouth without a lawyer present, because no matter what they say, because the prosecution will use every word you say against you."

She's her father's kid all right…

"So – what I need from you right now is total honesty. I need you to tell me_ exactly_ what they're offering – and exactly what they want in return. I can't help you if you hold back – and I don't care what they say, the prosecution is not your friend, Sands. They're only out to hang you and anybody they can get you to roll over on."

And you know, I just hate cold hard reality… but… trust my instincts, Beth said. Trust those same instincts that let me down with Ajedrez… I could really use a cigarette about now. Of course there's no such thing as a smoking section any more… "I _work_ for the prosecution, Sweet Stuff," I tell her. "Testifying in federal court is just part of the drill." I sound a whole fuck of a lot more confident than I really feel, let me tell you. "Having an 'outside' attorney present is just a part of the whole dog and pony show Eddas wants me to put on for the boys back at Langley. You should understand about those – it was your old man who taught me all about perception and misdirection." Which is why I honestly hate doing this… this part of this, because I'm setting a fire underneath one of the few bridges I never wanted to burn. I honestly like Marcus – he was one of the best teachers I ever had. But I know him. He's like a pit bull when he gets his teeth into something and I have got to get him to back the fuck off me. The only way I'll ever do that, without blowing this whole thing sky high, is to convince him that I'm really a 'traitor' to the CIA, that I really _set out_ to burn the Company (because first and foremost, he is a loyal Company man. Just like I used to be, until the people I trusted turned on me and I got my eyes drilled out of my fucking skull… )

"How long have you worked with the DOJ," Lucy asks. (Sounds like I've ruffled a few feathers. Good.) "And _don't _tell me that's classified."

"No. But – I still can't tell you."

"Look – Sands – if you want my help –"

I put a sharp edge in my tone, "No – your old man wants me take your help because he just can't bring himself to believe I'm really the little rat that I am. Honestly, I think his ego's just wounded because he didn't see it coming, and I don't have to tell _you _that he likes to think he knows everything there is to know." The only way to be sure she'll tell him this load of crap is make it good enough – personal enough – that she'll _want _to tell him. I still don't like it, but if I don't get Marcus off my back… I just can't risk his getting involved. He could blow my only chance to get out of this mess without even meaning to.

"You've already discussed this whole thing with DOJ, haven't you?" Oh yeah, she's not happy.

"It's my job to tell them everything I do." And pretty soon this poor girl is gonna need hip waders, because the shit is gettin' pretty deep around here… but _everything_ in me is telling me that Eddas is on the level, and trusting her is the _only_ chance I have to walk away from this. She might not like me, but she values Milo's judgment – and I know he's not screwing with me.

…_This has to do with me and six guys pinning me to a wall, pounding the shit out of me, just because I walked out of a particular bar on a particular street in a particular section of town…_ _you had the power to either help me – or walk away. Regardless of the reason – you helped me…_

Milo. I trust him. I trust his reason for sticking his neck out for me. (I think it's stupid and careless of him to do it over me and him and six guys – but maybe that's why I believe him when he tells me it really goes back to that night sixteen years ago. And… maybe it goes back to a cold dark cell, too – and some really _bad_ karaoke.)

"I'm not sure I can help you, Mr. Sands," Lewin's tone is ice.

I shrug. "I'm just here to placate an old 'friend'." My tone is blasé, but I put just the right emphasis on the word friend to tell her that it doesn't mean shit to me. The final insult, because I'm sure Marcus had to twist her arm a little – and he probably even managed to say some good things about me… and here I am, the unappreciative little rat watching that bridge go up in smoke.

Our waitress brings the bill – I offer to pick it up and Lewin lets me. She's quick to make her exit. I stay behind and have another cup of coffee before calling into the office to have Ryan come fetch me. I'd rather take a cab – but I'm sure I'm being watched and it'll be better for this little production if Marcus hears that I was picked up by a guy from DOJ. Shit. Shit, fuck, damn and Hell. I really hate this – but it's just business. Marcus would do the same thing to me if he had to and I know it.

Ryan seems to pick up on my bad mood and offers little in the way of friendly chit-chat on the way in. Thank goodness for small favours…

I give Eddas the run down on my breakfast meeting (just the bare bones of it). She seems to think it's better for me to use her friend anyway – and she has the name of a good family law attorney, for me and a school that she says will take Emma. Apparently it's her old high school alma mater – and she serves on the board of directors.

"I had to pull a few strings – but – I want you to believe that I'm on your side, Sands."

I just smile – if she had idea what I'd _really_ done this morning, she'd know I have even less of a choice now as I did before. Marcus isn't just anybody. He might not have a big corner office or some long important title – but he's the guy everybody respects. He was my favourite teacher – and I was one of his favourite students. Even after several – er – _incidents_, you know the sorts of things that got my happy little ass shipped off to Mexico, Marcus is who I would have called, if Milo hadn't shown up first (because let's face it, I wouldn't have thought to call my Sugar Butt, no matter how bizarre our little history.) But Milo did show up – and with the kind of news he had to give me… no, this is my only way out and I know it. "I brought along that paperwork we talked about before – from Emma's mother's attorney."

"Good – do you mind if I call this guy on your behalf, if I have any questions?"

"Go for it," I shrug at her.

"How – how did the rest of last night go?" She asks – it sounds sincere. Not nosey – just – fucking sincere.

"I didn't get much sleep," I level with the lady. "But – I've gotten by on less."

"You'll be ok – I'm not going to get any calls from irate state troopers about one of my guys on a sleep-deprived shooting spree?"

I smirk at her, "Nah – they'll never catch me."

We have time to get through a little business – and then it's off to the airport for me and my little assistant.

My favourite CD keeps me company all the way to Santa Fe, but even though I manage to grab a quick nap on the flight, I'm still exhausted when we finally land. And you know how cheerful I am when I'm tired…

"So why exactly are we here?" Tonto wants to know. He's collected our baggage and we're headed towards the car rental place.

"Just like I told Eddas – I have personal business in town."

"But you said something about Dan Collins – "

"Why don't you just say that a little louder – they might not have heard you in Cuba."

"What – ?"

"Look, kid, it's not like I really expect anyone to be eavesdropping, but you do realize that I'm probably being tailed, right?"

"By whom?"

"Let's see – who could it be, who could it be – well I don't know the fucking CIA, maybe?" I hiss, just loud enough for him to hear but no one else.

"But – they can't – "

"Oh grow up and smell the conspiracy. If you think for a New York second that we never do anything on U.S. soil than I've got some real fine land down in Leezieanna t' sell ya." Kids. I swear.

"But – "

"But how about just shutting up and getting us a car – something with some leg room. We'll be driving to Texas from here."

"What?"

"Ok, _you'll_ be driving to Texas from here – although technically I still have my license, so I mean, hey, if you want me to take a turn behind the wheel just say so – " yeah, I'm a real peach when I haven't had enough – shut eye. Fuck. "Just get a damn car." I park my ass in the first chair my cane bangs into. Good thing no one else was sitting there…

a short while later a much more subdued Tonto returns to tell me he's rented us a Malibu. Not my first choice, but ok, it'll do. "What colour?"

"What difference does_ that_ make?"

"Just fucking humour the blind guy," I bark at him, lighting up a cigarette as soon as we hit the great outdoors (I managed to remember to pick up a couple of packs before we left D.C.)

"Dark blue – why."

"Good. Never rent a red car."

"Why?"

"Well, ok, I shouldn't say _never _rent a red car, it depends on what your intentions are. White is the least noticed by the fuzz – off white, too. Dark blue is good though, especially at night. Better than black – black isn't really the best colour for sneaking around after dark, contrary to popular myth and ninga movies."

"Ah – do I really want to know what you're up to?"

"Probably not. But first things first," I give him the general directions to our first stop.

……………………………………….

"Please tell me you're not going to rob a bank," Tonto says (I'm pretty sure it's a joke) as we pull up in front of one of Santa Fe's larger banking establishments.

I favour him with a charming little smile. "Be right back – keep the engine running." And Spencer and I head in.

It doesn't take me long to get what I need – just a few items out of a safety deposit box. I don't even need eyes to pick out what I came for – not that I ever thought so far ahead as to prepare for having to go through my box blind, but I always expected that if I ever had to collect this stuff, I'd be in a hurry.

What am I here for? A couple of bankbooks (not this bank) – an address book – a couple of keys – nothing at all important looking. I stow everything into the inner pocket of my suit coat and I'm back to the car before Tonto can even get bored.

"Now what?" Tonto inquires.

"Mail."

"Male?"

"Mail – as in the stuff you send through – the mail." I give him the directions… this is gonna be a_ long_ couple of days, I just know it…

My P.O. box isn't from the U.S. Postal Services. I prefer one of those private little places, where for just a few dollars more they'll automatically discard the junk mail and they don't really care how often I get around to picking up my shit. And it's not as if I have gobs of mail – I set this box up specifically for Holly and no one else ever knew about it, so I'm only expecting half a dozen or so envelopes. What I'm handed is close to four times that – and I've gotta get someone to read it all to me… Christ. On a fucking crutch.

I slide back into the passenger seat (yes, I really made little Tonto pull up the curb, no-parking zone and all, and wait for me in the car. Again.) "Ok. Texas or bust." I tell him as I'm lighting my cigarette.

"Is that it – two stops – that's the big personal business?"

"Yep, that's it. Drive."

"Uh – where exactly am I going?"

"Texas – that'd be East, there, Buckaroo."

"I meant _where_ in Texas?"

"Pull into a gas station – buy a map." This would be so much fucking easier if I could just get behind the wheel. Of course if I could do that I probably wouldn't be where I am at all… I think I need to get in a nap before I remove the boy's head – literally.

After putting Tonto on the right path (I won't even begin to tell you how much fun _that_ was), I tilt my seat back, pull my hat over my eyes (just out of habit, of course. The sun could be right on my face and I'd still only see darkness…) Despite the fact that if I weren't sitting, I'd be ready to fall over, I'm honestly just that tired, I have a Hell of a time actually dozing off… You have no idea of the psychological impact of being able to shut your eyes until you just can't do it any more…

"Oh yeah – I have to be awake by eight p.m., D.C. time," I mutter at him from under my hat.

"Why?"

"None of your fucking business." I prop one leg up on the dash and put on my headphones. Nothing sooths the savage beast like the sound of an angel's voice…

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, Tonto is waking me up. I smell of coffee. I realize is that we're not moving. "What time is it – where are we?"

"About seven thirty – D.C. time. I pulled into a diner – black, two sugars," he presses the cup into my hand. "We're right where you said you wanted to stop for the night."

"What a doll, I might get you trained yet," I smirk back at him, tilting the seat back to more of a sitting position so I can drink my coffee. "There a motel around here?"

"Just across the lot."

"Spiffy. Two rooms. Connecting if possible. First floor – I hate stairs." I pass over my card.

"Um – I don't think I can pass as you."

Oh that would be funny… "No one'll care. Besides the idea is for me to leave the paper trail, not you." Not that it would be all that difficult for anyone to figure out who my little driver is – but let's just keep the bulls-eye painted on my back for the time being. After Tonto goes to do my bidding, I get out of the car – my legs are stiff and cramped from sitting like that for so long. Figuring Spencer could use a leg stretch too, we both take a walk. It's a quiet afternoon, hot as hell, though, especially for December. Traffic rumbles by on the highway behind us – cars and a few heavy trucks. If Tonto followed my directions – and can read a map – we should be right on target, just like he said. Of course that's assuming a lot… I light up a smoke and lean back against the side of the diner. It's made of rough adobe…that brings back some rather unpleasant memories… another hot day, another hot brick wall – and a whole fuck of a lot of hurting… Christ, it really is hard to believe that was only a month ago.

I contemplate calling Beth, just to hear the sound of her voice – but I need to get settled first. Make a plan and stick to it – that's what's always gotten me through. And today the plan was to grab a few essentials from my box, pick up my mail and get to just about here (like I said, I'm assuming a lot by assuming that here is really where I want to be… but anyway… ) I'll get settled into my room before calling home… _home_. I really dig the sound of that word…

By the time I'm finishing up my cigarette, Tonto's back with a couple of room keys; he even manages to lead me across the lot without incident. (I have to stop myself from giving him a pat on the head when we finally arrive at my door.)

"Do you need – any help settling in?" Tonto asks – just a little hesitantly. Guess he remembers that little rap to the fingers I gave him yesterday.

"Nope," I drop my bag just to the left of the door. First things first – air. Motel – an educated guess – yep – right where I thought it would be. I crank it all the way down. Next I find the curtains – open. So I shut them. I don't need the light – and I prefer not to have to worry about peeping toms. Or local fuzz.

"I ah – I'm going back over to the diner to grab a bite to eat – would you care to join me?"

"Nope. But you can a good boy and bring me something."

"Ahh – anything in particular?" He sounds real unsure of himself.

"Surprise me." That outghta scare him. "And don't forget to announce yourself when you come back," I warn, "I have a tendency to shoot first and forgo the questions altogether."

"Ahh – sure – I'll – be back in a few."

Tonto retreats and I take the time I have until he returns to feel my way around the room and set up my toiletries in the undersized bath (yes, the boys' condo has gotten me a little spoiled. Maybe I should ask Beth to look for a place with one of those Jacuzzi tubs… ) I'm just getting the last of my personal gear lain out when I hear a brisk knock at the door.

"Jeff – it's me."

Me. Christ on a crutch. Gun in hand, I greet my boy, " 'Me' isn't someone I know," I grab him by the collar and haul him into the room – if he weren't carrying my dinner, I'd land him face first on the bed. " 'Me' could be anybody, from a company spook sent to tail me, to the feebs or even the fucking local fuzz. So 'me' had better have a name next time," I put the muzzle of the pistol up close enough to his face to drive the point home.

"You really are nuts."

"It take you this long to figure that out?" I let go and holster my weapon (I didn't even have the safety off – but I don't think he knows enough about guns to know that…) "What'd you bring me?"

"Hamburger and fries – and a bottle of water."

"Ok. Scram."

"You're welcome."

I just smirk – and listen to him retreat through the door that connects our rooms. Wonder if he's regretting asking for this little assignment…

I settle on the bed and open up my styraphome box – smells – smells like truck stop hash but what the Hell, it's food. I pick at a couple of fries and fish out my cell phone. Emma answers on the first ring – assures me that all is well and then passes me over to Beth without my even having to ask.

"Hey there, Cowboy."

I just smile – "You have no idea how good your voice sounds right now, Ange…" Mon ange – _my angel_.

……………………………………………………..

Listen as the wind blows  
from across the great divide  
Voices trapped in yearning; memories trapped in time  
The night is my companion and solitude my guide  
Would I spend forever hear and not be satisfied

And I would be the one  
to hold you down  
kiss you so hard  
I'll take your breath away  
and after I'd wipe away tears  
just close your eyes dear

Through this world I've stumbled  
So many times betrayed  
Trying to find an honest word to find the truth enslaved  
Oh, you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhymes  
My body aches to breathe you breath, your words keep me alive

And I would be the one to hold you down  
Kiss you so hard  
I'll take your breath away and after I'd wipe away the tears  
Just close your eyes dear

Into this night I wander  
It's morning that I dread.  
Another day of knowing of the path I fear to tread.  
Oh into the sea waking dreams I follow without pride.  
Cause nothing stands between us here and I won't denied.

And I would be the one to hold you down.  
Kiss you so hard  
I'll take your breath away and after I'd wipe away the tears  
just close your eyes dear...

Sarah Mclachlan


	39. Breaking and Entering, 101

**Chapter Thirty Eight**:

_Breaking and Entering, 101 _

…………………

_You really didn't see it coming, did you… _

_You have seen too much – we want to make sure that does not happen again… _

_No – no – please – **not my eyes**…oh Christ, not my eyes… (not again – **not** again… I just can't take this any more… but I can't seem to stop it either…)_

The whine of a drill and the sound of a man's screams echo through my head. My voice. My screams.

_Not again…_

Hot ooze drips down my face… my eyes…

_Just make it stop… just make it go away… _

Red fades to black…

_Please just let me die here, just let me fucking die, **right here**… _but the heat of the sun keeps beating down – I can't see it. I'll never see anything again…not the sun, not the rain, not the clouds, not the snow… snow… I miss winter… I miss the cold… I try to be there instead of here – but I can't get past the heat, past the dust and sand – I'm choking on it, choking on smoke and death, blood oozing out, burning up in the heat of the sun – burning up in darkness…

_Because I saw too much_.

The darkness holds me close, dragging me down… but the pain never goes away…

Everything smells wrong – foul – clean – wrong.

There's a bed under me – it's soft if not completely comfortable – covers – pillow – this is all fucking wrong… wait, what's this?

There's a gun under my pillow – why would they leave me a gun? (why would they leave me a pillow?) Some kind of head game? Maybe the gun doesn't have any bullets? Maybe it only has one, so I can smoke my own brains out, when I can't take the pain any more… and oh fuck, but everything hurts and nothing makes any sense. Instinct removes the blindfold from my eyes – but it's still dark. Too dark… too fucking dark… _seen too much…didn't see it coming…_ I've seen too much, but I didn't see anything!

Over the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears, I hear the door of my cell open – I level the gun at the intruder – I know it won't work, but I have to do something – Sheldon Jeffrey Sands will not go down like some dog in the street!

"Jeff – _Jeff!" _Male. Young. Vaguely familiar… scared. He sounds more scared than I am. "It's me – it's Ryan – "

Ryan? Do I know any fucking Ryans? I have to make a conscious effort to keep the gun steady in my hand – I'm shaking. I never fucking shake, not like this! _My name is Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, I work for the Central Intelligence Agency…_

"Jeff – come on, this isn't funny – put the gun down. _Please_."

_I throw shapes. They catch them… I set the up, I watch them fall… no – no this can't be right – I can't **see**… _I release the safety and cock the hammer back, "Where am I – who are you?" Even my voice is shaky.

"Jeff –"

No – that's who _I_ am – but who calls me Jeff? A hand full of close acquaintances? Family calls me Sheldon – to everyone else I'm Sands. I keep the balance. _I'm just walking my beat friend – Mexico's my beat and I'm walking it…_ _friend_. Dan Collins. Dan **_fucking_** Collins…_ he_ did this to me… he's the reason I can't see… (why can't I see?)

"Come on you're really starting to scare me here – put the gun down – _please_ ––"

"Stay back!"

"I didn't move!"

But something did – and a single familiar smell comes my way. Dog? Dog. Spencer. Oh Christ. Spencer. Milo. Beth.

_My angel_.

Ryan. Tonto. "Moss? That you?" (My voice is still shaky.)

"Yeah – would you – would you **_please_ **put the gun down?"

Gun – oh – right, gun. Very slowly, I ease the hammer back into place and set the gun on the night table next to me. Spencer hops onto the bed – practically right into my lap. Damn – an eighty pound lap dog, just what I need – but my legs don't hurt, not like I remember them hurting… it was just a nightmare. _Just another fucking nightmare…_

I run my hands over Spencer's back, trying to convince myself that he's real. That_ I'm _real. That I'm – here? Where the fuck is here – hotel? Yeah, it smells like a hotel. No – it smells like a motel. There is a difference, there, amigos. I'm shaking as I reach for the water bottle I remember setting down – my smokes are next to it.

"Jeff?"

I'm still shaking as I get a cigarette lit up. "Yeah, kid. Sorry," I manage a weak apology.

"Are you all right?"

"I had my fucking eyes drilled out of my head – what the fuck do _you_ think?" I growl at the sheer stupidity of that question. What kind of fucking moron did Eddas give me here?

"I – sorry."

Christ. I'm still shaky from the dream, I didn't mean to jump all over the poor kid (no, I'm not getting all soft on you – but even I have my moments. I realize I scared the bejeezus out of the boy a minute ago, I'm trying to cut him a little slack.) "Look – I – " I turn my head fully in his direction – and – fuck. I only barely remember pulling off the 'blindfold'– and I can imagine what it looked like when I flicked the ol bic there a second ago, to light up my smoke… "Do me a favour and don't toss your cookies on the carpet – room's in my name remember? I don't want to have to pay a fucking cleaning bill."

"I – I'm sorry."

(What really burns me, deep down, is just how fucking _pained_ he sounds – like **_he_ **hurts just to have to fucking look at me. It's worse than even the way my sister jumped away from me – worse than Milo's involuntary step back. And – then – there's Beth. Beth who can kiss me – touch me – _look at me_ – Beth who took care of me in the dark… ) "Stop fucking apologizing," I snap at the kid. I don't turn my head away, either, there's no point. This is what I am, a freak with no eyes. Fuck me but good because this is _exactly_ what Barillo wanted – and in the end, I guess the prize goes to the man who gets what he wanted. I stamp out my cigarette – it isn't helping. Nothing can help. Nothing can give me my eyes back. Nothing can take away the pain or this horrible exposed feeling I get when I know someone's seen – someone I didn't want to see (I don't even know why I care – maybe it's just vanity. I know I used to be a Hell of a good looking man.)

And you know, I could live without my sight – sure there are a few things I'd really love to see, just once: my angel's green eyes, her smile. Cicily's face when she reads to me. My daughter dancing – even knowing how it'd make me feel to watch, knowing that any one of her toes could be breaking when she goes up on them… Other than missing out on those few things, thought, blind isn't really so bad – but I'm not just blind, am I? Barillo didn't just make sure I'd never 'see too much' again, he made sure no one would ever look at me again, not without getting sick or feeling fucking sorry for me. "Stop staring," I mutter angrily in Tonto's direction. (It's not even him I'm mad at – peeved, but not mad. No, I'm angry at myself for ever trusting anyone… only I know that's not true either. Beth is right, I have to learn to trust at least myself again…but how do I trust myself after the last month? How do I trust anyone…?)

"I – I'm sorry," Tonto says again, real quietly.

I just sigh. Other than shooting him where he stands, there's no way to stop him from being a fucking broken record and I know it. "Just – drop it, ok?"

"Can I – get you anything?"

"No one can get me the things I really want." My eyes. My life.

Silence.

Fucking A. "What time is it?"

"Almost three – "

"Spiffy. Go get dressed. We're going out."

"Where?"

"You'll see – " and I really didn't mean it that way – but I can hear the boy wince anyway. "Plant your feet a sec," I say, to the sound of his hasty retreat. (Wonder if the boy's ever heard that song by the Clash – _should I stay or should I go now_…) I light up another cigarette, "Come over here and park your ass."

He hesitates. Then – I hear him approach and park himself at the edge of the bed, almost like he's really afraid to get too close to me.

"It's _not _contagious," I force myself to turn my face directly at him – it's hard to do, but why should I make myself more comfortable, just to take_ him_ off the hot seat? I'm real sure Tonto's more uncomfortable with my face than I am.

"I know – I just – I've never seen – I'm sorry – I just didn't have any idea. I mean I know what you said – but – I just – I couldn't imagine – "

I finally wave him silent. It's not that I really want to pull him off the hot seat – but my Christ, enough already. "Look, kid – I need you to get your brain wrapped around the fact that for the next forty eight hours you're going to have to be my eyes – because as you can see, I seem to have left mine behind in Mexico."

I listen to him swallow – probably trying to really digest what I just said.

"Once we get back to D.C., by all means, tell the big boss lady you just can't work with me, I'm sure she'll understand. But until then, I need to know if you can really keep your head on straight."

"I – I think I can do that."

I shake my head at him, "There's no room for 'I think I can' in the field. If you can't hack it – tell me now. I'll figure out some other way to do what I'm here to do." Even if I don't really expect it to get hairy, I can't watch his back and my own. And I really would be no good at driving the get away car all by myself…

"I – I can hack it."

Yeah right. Every time he looks at me – every time he looks at me, he's going to thank God that he doesn't look like I do. "Good," I say with more confidence than I really feel. "Now get yourself dressed."

I listen to him leave on real unsteady sounding feet… and would you believe it's_ me_ in the bathroom paying homage to the porcelain god? I think I'll just pass it off as the effects of truck stop hash on my delicate stomach… (and if you believe that one, I've still got that real fine land down in ol' Leezieanna for sale…) I'm glad Beth packed some Maalox in my bag… she really is an angel. _My_ angel.

……………………………………………………………

"What exactly are we doing here?" Tonto wants to know when we finally arrive at our destination – no real easy task, considering I've never been here before.

I know where here is – since Collins was my boss and all, I made sure to commit a few little details to memory, just in case I happened to need them… I just didn't ever expect to have to explain the finer points of illegal search and seizure to a kid so clean he fucking squeaks when he walks… "Breaking and entering," I reply, shoving my cigarette between my lips, so I can have both hands free. I pull a pair of wire cutters from my bag. (Oh yeah, and it's four a.m. and fucking hot as Hell out here.)

"Which you realize is illegal –"

"Fucking duh." I go to work on the chain link fence around the storage yard. Tonto assures me that a) there are no security lights back here, b) there are no surveillance cameras that c) there _is_ a security guard at the front of the yard but he's fast asleep and d) can't see us – nor could he have seen us come up to the fence because we're obscured by other buildings. Let's hope Tonto is as reliable a sidekick as his namesake.

"We could have tried for a search warrant – "

"Based on what? Collins' unit isn't in his name."

"Than how do you even know we have the right place?"

"The nose knows," I touch the side of my schnoz for emphasis. Once I'm sure I've cut a big enough hole, I set the cutters down carefully in the gravely pavement (the place is a real shit hole, I can _smell_ the factories around us – one of them is a paper processing plant. It's one of those things that if you've ever smelled it, you'll never forget… off to the left and just above us, a train rattles past – freight, heavily loaded. No bells dinging – so there aren't any roads that cross the tracks anywhere near us – Tonto said the place was pretty deserted, but it's good to know that he's probably right… ) I don my leather gloves and peel back the fence – then crawl through without picking up the wire cutters, a detail my boy seems to notice (much to my surprise.)

"Ah – "

"Your job is to keep eyes open and your trap shut. Savvy?"

"Yeah, sure," he sounds dubious.

"Put these on," I hand over a pair of latex gloves. "I don't want you leaving any prints behind," I toss my spent cigarette to the ground and call Spencer to follow me through the fence. Tonto brings up the rear.

"Are you sure we shouldn't have just left the dog back at the motel?" He asks.

"What was job description number two again?"

"Keep my trap shut."

"Very good, you're catching on – now since Spencer here can't read, you get to direct me to storage unit number seventy-two-J. Keep your eyes peeled for video cameras and strolling guards – and keep your head down. Never assume that the other guy can't see you, just because you can't see him." Which is probably almost amusing coming from me – or it would be if Tonto weren't so oversensitive to my 'condition'. I think he's trying not to make it obvious since our 'little chat' back at the motel, but he's fucking tap dancing on razor blades and I know it. (I think even if he doesn't ask to get assigned to something easier than babysitting my happy little ass, I may have a word in Eddas' ear about the kid. He just isn't cut out for dealing with a guy like me – and it's getting on my nerves.)

Thankfully, it doesn't take us long to reach our objective. And as antiquated as this whole set up is, breaking in is a synch – even in my 'condition'. I pick the lock in nothing flat and open the door. Not even a fucking alarm – I almost wonder if we have the right place… but if not, at least it'll be close enough to rattle Collins' cage and that's the real point of this little nocturnal raid. Anything useful I actually come away with tonight is just gravy.

"Now what?" Tonto asks.

"Now – I go digging – you can help."

"It's pitch black in here – " (I'm pretty sure he said _that _without thinking.)

"I _am_ aware that the rest of the world needs light," I hand over the small flashlight I packed into my gear. I'm really not in as much of a foul mood as the little show I'm putting on would suggest – it just annoys the crap out of me that he's this fucking uncomfortable after having seen for himself – he's the one who kept wanting to know what it was really like out there in the field. Well – now he knows, doesn't he?

"What am I looking for?"

"Anything recent – files, folders, envelopes, computer disks – small boxes that might contain something interesting. Just because it looks innocuous doesn't mean it is. Nothing could be something and something could be nothing."

"I – really don't get it."

"Don't think – look. Lists, photos – address books, file folders. Ignore the obvious junk."

"It all looks like junk to me."

This is going to take all fucking night… I slide the door down almost all the way and tell Spencer to 'guard', then join my boy in his search – we really are the blind leading the blind, here… "Just start telling me things that you see. And keep that flashlight aimed _away _from the door, there Buckaroo."

…With a duffle bag of paper booty (some of it might even be useful), we leave, just a little under an hour after getting there. "Hold up," I say to Tonto after getting the door of the storage unit shut again. I screw the silencer onto the muzzle of one of my guns and shoot out the lock.

"What the – "

"Come on – just in case someone heard that." And I start heading back the way we came…

"Jeff – "

"I know what I'm doing. Now _move it_," I grab the kid by the collar and drag him a few feet until it really feels like he's following me in earnest.

I don't slow down until after we've gotten into the car – I tell him to drive out, lights out (just like we came in), nice and slow (because I'm pretty sure he's a little panicky by now – I seriously don't think this kid has ever gotten so much as a parking ticket. I wonder if Eddas is hoping he'll rub off on me… ) "When we get back to the motel, grab your gear – we're moving the ol' homestead."

"What?"

"We're going leaving town."

"In the middle of the night?"

"It's not the middle of the night – it's the end of the night – the posterior of the evening, if you like – and the wind is definitely blowing from the south."

"_What_?"

"Just roll," and I smirk at him wondering if he even gets _that_ one… (rolling stones gather no moss, you know…)

……………………………………………

"So where are we going?" Tonto wants to know, as he dumps his bag into the trunk.

It him a lot longer than I would have liked to get his gear together – makes me think the boy actually unpacked his suitcase. Armatures. "Just hit the highway – any direction will do."

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

"South wind," I tell him, sliding into the passenger seat.

"No it's not – there's no wind at all."

"I am but mad north-north west – but when the wind blows southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw." I listen to him get the car started and pull out of the motel lot.

"You realize that makes no sense," he tells me once we've hit the road.

"It didn't make sense to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, either. Look what happened to them," I make a slicing motion across my neck.

"Who?"

"Just drive – and take it slow. We're not in a hurry."

"We just broke into a privately owned facility – and – stole a bunch of stuff – and now we're leaving town in the middle of the night. But not in a hurry?"

"Never do anything that will draw the attention of the local fuzz," I tell him.

"Other than leave behind your finger prints?"

I smirk at him, "Yeah. Wasn't that part fun?"

"I don't get it – your prints are in the system – they have to be, you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon – "

"Kid – use that noggin of yours a minute. Who am I?"

I hear him start to answer – then stop – then start – poor kid probably really does think I've lost it.

"My name is Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. I work for the Central Intelligence Agency. And the DOJ," I add with an even bigger smirk. That one really does still kill me every time I think about it. I mean, _me_ hangin' out with the white hats.

"Which still doesn't give you the right to break the law! Nothing you found tonight could ever be used in court – except as evidence against you – "

"Oh, Christ, Kid – _think_. When the cops run my prints what's going to come up?"

"Your name – your address – your record if you have one – "

"That would be a negative, there good buddy," I give him my trucker accent.

"But – "

"I'm in the system all right – but I'm a fucking covert operative for the fucking CIA. The local fuzz won't get squat when they run my prints, but the second they do it, the CIA – and probably the feebs – will get flagged. Little red lights will blink, sirens will wail and someone is gonna know that Sheldon Jeffrey Sands broke into a little storage facility out here in Podunk Texas. It shouldn't take more than forty-eight hours for the owner of that storage unit to become aware of what I've done. And he's gonna know why. And he's gonna go nuts. And _that_, my young friend, is the whole idea."

"So – stealing a bag full of papers –?"

"Hey, you never know when you're gonna get lucky. I mean, we're here, I had to plant my prints – might as well take home a cupie doll, right?"

"But even if it is something – it still can't be used in court – "

"Like I care about what can be used in court. This is about shaking trees and seeing what falls out."

"So – just where are we headed now?"

"D.C."

"You want me to _drive _back to D.C.? I'm not even headed in the right direction!"

"Good. And, no I don't expect you to drive all the back – but that wasn't what you asked, now was it? You merely inquired where we were_ headed_ – and our ultimate destination is indeed Washington D.C." Yes, I am truly an insufferable prick when I'm in a good mood.

With a heavy sigh, Tonto rephrases the question, "Where are we headed – _right now_?"

"Don't know – can't see. Small detail really – it's the sort of thing that happens when you don't have eyes."

Poor kid – he really has no answer for that, so he just drives in what I'm pretty sure is miserable silence…

………………………………………………………………………

"It's just junk," Ryan tells me as he sifts through our booty; we've settled into a new motel, too soon for me, but according to my boy here, no one is following us. (I'm only so confident in his ability to sniff a tail – but when he told me he was about to fall asleep at the wheel, I let him start looking for a motel – after offering to take the wheel and let him sleep while I drove. Somehow that idea went down just like the Hindenburg, I don't know why…)

But even though I let him pull over I check us into a motel, Beth is right, I'm making the boy earn his keep. Before he can toddle off to his room he has to tell me what all we heisted from Collins' storage locker. (Or to be fair, what all _I _heisted.) "What kind of junk?" I ask.

"I don't know – it's just – it's junk. Papers – notebooks –_ junk_."

"Could you _possibly_ be any less specific?"

"I really don't know what I'm looking at! I don't know why you had me grab any of this stuff – I really don't know what I'm doing here!"

Well, boyo over there might have a spine in there after all (either that or he's real close to the edge)… "Tell you what – why don't you pick something up and start reading."

"Fine." He does.

I listen. About two sentences in, I light up a cigarette – I really don't believe my luck (maybe those damned gypsies have finally been appeased after all.) "Pay dirt."

"What do you mean – this is just a list of names and addresses – most of it doesn't even make any sense – it's gibberish."

"Exactly why it_ does_ make sense."

"_You _don't make sense."

I just smirk up at him. "South wind, my boy, south wind – you just have to know how to make it talk to you."

I hear the papers hit the bed, hard, "I'm too tired for this – I'm going to bed."

"Fair enough."

"What?"

I smirk some more – apparently my acquiescing to his demand for sleep has caught my boy off guard. "I said – fair enough. We can work on cracking this when we get back to the office."

"What is it – really?"

"Really – my best guess is that it's his dirty laundry list."

"A – what?"

"The list of people Collins has dirt on – personally, I would never keep my dirty laundry list in my storage unity – but hey, to each rat his own little hole, I s'pose." And Collins never was the brightest bulb on the string.

"You're pulling my leg, right?"

"Nope – both hands are right here," I put my cigarette between my lips and wave both hands at him for emphasis, "Right on the ends of my arms where they belong – so I ain't pullin' nothing – no legs, no wool – not even your cute little short and curlies." Poor kid – I really don't know what bugs him more, when I'm in a rotten mood or a good one – and with me there really isn't much in the way of an in between, it's either up or down.

"You people – actually keep – _lists_ –?"

"It's kind of like an insurance policy – half the guys on Collins list probably aren't even citizens of the good ol' U.S. of A. – but the ones who are… now _that_ could be interesting."

"And – you're going to give this all to Eddas?" He sounded _awfully_ suspicious just then. (Why is _everybody_ suspicious of my good intentions lately?)

"Yes – once I have his personal code cracked, I'll share with the big boss lady." I really am a loyal little rat, when you come right down to it, just as long as there's a little cheese in it for me…and Eddas' office smells kinda like Wisconsin from where I'm sitting. "Go get some sleep – I want to be on the road first thing in the a.m."

"It _is_ first thing in the a.m."

"Oh. Right. How about by high noon, Kemo Sabe," I smirk at my little Tonto.

Ryan grumbles – but wishes me a good night anyway (and I refrain from reminding him that it's morning – what the Hell, it really does all look the same to me anyway…) I lock the door after him and scoop everything back into the duffle bag. I have way too much adrenaline in my system to crash now – but it's too early to call home. Home. Damn, I do like the sound of that word...

………………………………………………………………….

There's a man who leads a life of danger

To everyone he meets he stays a stranger

With every move he makes another chance he takes

Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow

Secret agent man, secret agent man

They've given you a number and taken away your name

Beware of pretty faces that you find

A pretty face can hide an evil mind

Ah, be careful what you say

Or you'll give yourself away

Odds are you won't live to see tomorrow

Secret agent man, secret agent man

They've given you a number and taken away your name

Secret agent man, secret agent man

They've given you a number and taken away your name

Swingin' on the Riviera one day

And then layin' in the Bombay alley next day

Oh no, you let the wrong word slip

While kissing persuasive lips

The odds are you won't live to see tomorrow

Secret agent man, secret agent man

They've given you a number and taken away your name

Secret agent man

---

by P.F. Sloan / S. Barri

(performed by lots of people, including Devo and Johnny Rivers)


	40. No Rest for the Wicked

_**Secrett W i n d o w** _wrote: "And this last chapter had me laughing a few times. Sands is an amusing guy, especially when you write him. :D"

Thank you – and thank for the many kind words, I really appreciate it! Yeah, I just don't think that a guy like Sands could really take himself completely seriously all the time (at least when he's not working) – he's too intelligent not to realize he's a little 'messed up' and or that the way his brain works is really in line with the rest of the world. (And if that was your birthday that kept you busy – happy birthday! If it was someone else's, I hope it was happy one all the way around! I know Holiday stuff is going to have me driving me nuts the next couple of weeks – we haven't even gotten the tree up… but I've got a lot in my head to get down, so we'll see how it goes…)

**_Quick29_**: there are several more chapters (and thank you for wanting them!), but it is winding down… I've got the seed for a sequel planted in my head and starting to grow just a little, as well as a possible collection of short vignettes that I might string together into one "story" – just stuff that I really want to write for this but might not make it in

**_Sands-Agent_** – I figure it'll be a good long time before the night mares really subside – although he tends to sleep more peacefully when Beth is around ;) and yeah, Ryan really is taking a little bit of a beating around Sands… but there's more to his story line than meets the eye (although all things considered, I'm not sure that's the best phrase in the world…)

And on that note, in the role of Ryan's fiancé, Jeanie Baker, Amelia Warner (_Aeon Flux_ – as Una Flux)

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**Lastly, quick note:** the online English to French Dictionary I use is working differently than before (giving me odd symbols instead accent marks) so some of the French may be off in the subsequent chapters until I find a new translator.

**Chapter Thirty Nine**:

_No Rest for the Wicked_

Tonto and I manage to get back to D.C. without incident. He's not particularly chatty the rest of the way and I'm not real surprised. Between my cheerful personality and scaring the shit right out of him that first night, he seems happy enough to just drive as directed, get us on a plane and then drive some more to get us into the office. (It's late afternoon, Friday, when we get into D.C. and all I really want is to go straight home – but duty first. Milo's been in touch with me daily – his inside guy tells him that Collins was notified this morning about that 'little incident' at a certain storage facility in Texas, but word hasn't gotten as far as Mexico that it was me. I'm pretty sure Collins has his suspicions, though. He might not be the brightest bulb, but he's not a complete moron, either. Of course, I'm entirely certain that Director Mitchel has heard I was out in Texas breaking and entering, although I'm not sure he knows exactly who's storage unit I was breaking and entering into… now if the right hand were to ever actually talk to the left hand… but this is the CIA we're talking about. Nobody talks to anybody.)

Eddas is in a meeting when we get in, so I have a little time to kill. I decide to use it to really get myself acquainted with my office. Tonto surprises my by not toddling off immediately to wherever it is he might want to toddle off to (because I just can't imagine him wanting to spend any more time with yours truly than he has already.)

"Jeff – do you have a minute?" He asks me, real hesitantly, after getting me safely to my office door.

"All the time in the world." Although a cigarette would be nice… so would a drink. I shrug out of my coat and find a place to drop it – feels like a chair.

"I just – I wanted to apologize for the other morning – night. Whatever. I know what you'd said before about your eyes – and – I mean it's not exactly a real secret or anything – "

Well isn't that just fucking fantastic to know… not real shocking, mind you, but still, you'd think a guy could keep a little think like having his eyeballs screwed out of his head a secret. "Exactly how common is that little scrap of information?"

I hear a bit of silence, then a very sheepish sounding Tonto speaks, "I guess it's probably more common that you'd like – ?"

Fucking duh. But I just shrug – not much to do now that horse is out of the barn, is there? "Whatever. You were saying?" Now I really need a cigarette.

"I guess – I'm just trying to say I'm sorry for the way I barged in like that – and the way I reacted. It was wholly inappropriate and I apologize. I really appreciate having had the opportunity to work with you over the last couple of days and I respect you a great deal – I just want you to know that."

He's kidding, right? "No hard feelings."

"Marlina could be tied up for a while – would you care to join me in the caff – for a cup of coffee or something? The food here really isn't half bad – "

Either this kid is the world's biggest brown noser or a total masochist, I swear… I, however, am neither. "You go on ahead – I'm gonna get to know the lay out of my new digs a little better. I'd rather do that all by myself, thank you," I add, before he can offer to help (because I'm sure he will, since I apparently haven't completely scared him off.)

"Well – I'm sticking around for a while anyway – you know – if you need anything, just call – my cell, I mean."

"I kinda figured that's what you meant, there Buckaroo." Christ on a crutch, this kid really did grow up in Mayberry, didn't he? I listen to his retreat and then shut the door and begin my exploration.

My office is the fourth door down, off the north bank of elevators, on the fifth floor – there's an outer office for an assistant (I really don't expect Tonto to be sticking around – although it's hard to tell if that was really a resignation speech or just him being the hay-seed I've come to know and love….) At any rate, I don't spend too much time exploring the outer office, just in case Tonto's made himself all to home here. I really don't want to go plowing through his personals (the thought of a twenty-six year old virgin honestly scares me...) There's a desk, a chair – a couple of chairs for waiting guests… like I'm ever going to have any of those. Coat rack – coffee maker. Spiffy. That'll come in handy.

Beyond the outer office is my pad (I run my fingers over the letters of my name… yesserie, I've got a name plaque and everything. Looks like someone erred on the side of caution, too. It reads simply S. J. Sands. Truth is that I like Sheldon just fine – it's just that 'Shelly' caused a little too much trouble in high school. Hell, it caused a little too much trouble in elementary school.) That's why I started going by Jeff when I got to college... at least until Holly came along. She was something of a sneak herself; she found out that my real name was Sheldon and started calling me Shelly… which I really I don't quite hate much as I like to say I do. When Em calls me that, it kinda reminds me of her mother – it's a good memory.

But anyway…

I've got a big desk and a comfy chair (I can't help but snicker to myself at that one – it's from a Monty Python skit… anyway… ) I open every drawer in the desk – they're all empty of course, but I've never had a real live office of my own before so this is kinda fun. I wonder I'll put in my drawers. Guns? Gin? Endless stacks of paperwork? Those are the sorts of things I've found while snooping around in other people's desks… (maybe I'll opt for tequila or rum instead of ginseeing as I'm not big on gin. I should probably find out what Eddas fancies, though – being in close proximity to me really is enough to drive a person to drink.)

Hmmm…. I wonder what I should put _on _my desk... photos of my little muffin? (Yeah, that could be fun…) I mean, I know I can't see, but other people can see, right? I've been in offices where the photos are facing out for visitors (if I_ could_ see, I think I'd rather have my photos facing in.)

Ok, let's see… or rather _feel_ what we have here already… feels like a desk set (yeah, that's about as fucking useful as tits on a bull…) hmmm… that's got to be a computer – oooh ergonomic keyboard, neat-o. Track ball mouse – cool. Useless from where I'm sitting, but cool. Ok – monitor – kinda big, nice to see my tax dollars hard at work (I mean, really, like _I_ need a monitor – hello, blind guy… fuck me, but sometimes I think the world is populated by morons.) (I really don't think the monitor was Eddas' doing – she probably just told whoever was in charge of these sorts of things to set up an office for the new guy on her team… me. On someone's 'team' – oh yeah, that's funny all right… but here I am.)

Over here we have – yes that's a phone. Christ – when was the last time I bothered with a land line?

Other than that it seems as if my desk is bare – maybe I'll just leave it that way…

In front of my desk, I have two big chairs – and a little couch on the far wall. These really are some pretty fine digs the Boss has set me up with; behind the desk I discover a big window… I wonder what the view is like…

"Sands?"

"Hey there, Boss Lady," I turn from the window and favour her with a grin. "How's the view from up here?"

"It's not the best view on the floor – but I wanted your office close to mine."

I just smirk. I'll bet she did – she wanted me right under her thumb… like I really blame her for that.

I listen to Eddas come into the room and sit down in one of those big comfy chairs in front of my desk. "How was your trip?"

"Productive."

"You know you could have gone home – "

I just shake my head at her, "I want you to know that I'm really on _your _side," I toss her words back at her. "Or at the very least that I'm capable of being a loyal little rat," I add with a smirk. (Emma mentioned art classes, maybe I can get her to do a drawing of me as a rat for my office wall…)

"I looked over that paperwork you left with me, and spoke to Mr. Hodges. You daughter's estate is in good shape – and her mother was _very_ specific about who she intended to have custody of your daughter."

"So – what about the Dawsons?"

"They've tracked you down to D.C. and filed a petition for her custody in family court – they'd already filed in Virginia and in New York."

The old man is determined, I'll give him that – but I _won't_ give him my kid. "So what do I do? You know – other than handling it my way, which might put a kink in the works if you want me to look all nice and shiny in front of a judge – not that I'd ever get caught."

She ignores my remarks (I kind figured she might), "I gave Bernie a call and got him on it – he's that family law attorney I spoke with you about before you left. He handles divorces, too, by the way – in case you ever happen to be in the market." (Uh-huh – why do I get the feeling she knows that Beth is going to need one of those…) "He can be a real bull dog when he needs to – at any rate, he'll be in to see you early in the week, probably Monday, possibly Tuesday. You can discuss whatever you need to with him. Sam Preston will be by, too – first thing Monday morning."

"That's the criminal lawyer you wanted me to talk to," it's not really a question. I have a good head for names.

"You're scheduled to go up before a federal judge Friday next, nine a.m. – and yes, I want you to look 'all nice and shiny', so a tie will be in order. Something conservative – worn with a dress shirt and a suit – dress shoes would be a nice touch, too."

I'm pretty sure she's smiling at me, teasing me about my wardrobe (I'm currently wearing a t-shirt – no idea which one – jeans and my favourite scuffed up once-white tennies – hey, I just back from a real long hot, dry, draining trip, and I haven't even been home yet, so give me a break. I was going to dress up for her on Monday… Really.) _However_, everything Lucy Lewin said about deals and not trusting the prosecution is running through my head, too… "You ah – you want to haul me in front of a judge _next week_?" (Panicky, me? What ever gave you that idea… oh right, that would be the panic in my voice just then giving me away… it just cannot bode well that she wants me in court so soon.) "Don't you want more evidence first?" _You know, more evidence against **other people**…_ I need a cigarette. Or a drink. Better yet, how about both…

"You still don't trust me, do you?"

"Lady, I don't trust anybody," I tell her. But I can trust Milo, right? 'Old time's sake' doesn't count for shit – but me and him and six guys, right? That night doesn't mean anything to me, but he said it means something to him – that and me and him and some really bad karaoke – and I do mean _really fucking_ _**bad** karaoke_. (It's almost funny in a way – I mean, it isn't those twenty six days spent in a dark little cell that really mean something to him, it's that I was willing – happy in fact – to go out drinking with him afterwards. For me, it's those twenty six days and some of the things I said – some of the things he said… and the fact that I really don't think anyone else could have coaxed me into not curling up and dying a couple of times back there. But for him it's all about what happened afterwards… )

So – I trust Milo. And he trusts Marlina Eddas. Fucking Marlina Eddas, the bane of the CIA. And here I am… fuck me but good, because everything inside _is_ telling me I can trust her – but… but. There's no room for buts in this – I'm in. I'm here. If she's going to screw me, at this point there isn't much I can do but ditch town and run – and just how far would I really get with Beth, Cicily and Emma in tow? Eddas has me by the short and curlies and she has to know it. As much as she needs me – I think I need her more... I also realize that she's talking to me. Guess it would be a good idea to actually pay attention to what she has to say, huh? (And have I mentioned that a cigarette would be real nice about now?)

"You have entirely too much potential value for me to stick you behind bars, Sands. Besides – you have to have figured out that if I renege on our arrangement, I'll lose three years worth of work with Milo. He'd never speak to me again, let alone trust me – or work with me. And that would make my top investigator pretty unhappy with me, too."

Huh – this Patrick my Sugar Butt is so fond of? And here I thought Milo's beau was a lawyer… "Well, on _that_ note," I manage an earnest smile in the Boss's direction, "My little panty raid seems to have been successful, but it'll take me at least couple of days to figure out just exactly what I came away with." Maybe by Monday I can have something for her – and maybe by Friday she'll _really _think I'm useful enough to keep around. Of course that means I'll need a pair of eyes over the weekend, and I'm not real sure Tonto's going to be available. Which means I'd better broach the subject _now_ that I'm going to need a new assistant… "The kid just isn't cut out to deal with a guy like me – and if I know it, you've got to know it too," I conclude after a _real _brief explanation.

"I have to admit, I was a little surprised when Ryan asked to be assigned to you. He's not – the best match for your particular personality. I'd just hoped that it would last a little longer than a week."

"He's a swell kid, Boss. I just think we'll all be a lot better off if you take him off the babysitting detail." See, I _can_ be reasonable. (It's just that most of the time I happen to not want to be…)

"All right. I'll see what I can come up with. If I can't line anyone else up up by tomorrow, I'll be around myself –_ if_ you think you're up to trusting me – ?"

"It's all stuff I'd be turning over to you anyway." And at least she doesn't tap dance on razor blades about the fact that I can't fucking see… in fact, I think Eddas is just as comfortable with it as Beth has always seemed to be.

"Anything I can do for you in the mean time?" the Boss lady inquires.

I feel through the duffle for the 'address book' I lifted from Collins' storage unit. "You can get somebody to record the entries in this onto tape for me."

"What is it?"

"I think it's a list of people Collins has dirt on – but I won't know for sure until I've really had a chance to study it. I figure if you can get someone to record stuff like this for me, without having to actually deal with my ass, it may cut down on the number of assistants I go through. But ah give it to somebody with at least a modicum of security clearance."

"That shouldn't be a problem – all my people have at least some clearance. Have you had a chance to play with your computer, yet?"

"No real point there, Boss," I tell her, a little perplexed by the question. "I kinda can't see, remember?"

"Mind if I hover over your shoulder?"

"Now Darlin', I thought we discussed that – you're my _boss_," I smirk up at her – I can hear her moving so that she's standing right next to my chair.

"Very funny – now turn the damned thing on."

Ok – sure – most computers are about the same…

"Up front," she tells me, as I reach around to the back of the hard drive. "Six o'clock – just an inch or so up from the bottom lip – that's it."

I depress the large round button, taking note of its location. "Ok – now what?"

"First, please tell me you're not one of those two finger typers."

"A-plus in high school typing – and I'm surprised you didn't know that." Honestly, I figured she would have crawled through my history backwards and forwards by now.

"I got your GPA – I didn't look at what classes you took."

"Maybe you should," I invite her. It could give her a whole new insight…

"Hands on keyboard – "

Um… ok…it takes a second, "There some point to this?" Because I still can't see for shit here, people.

"Feel the little nubs – that's F and J – didn't you ever notice that before?"

"Guess I never thought about it," I admit.

"Well now you have. Now – the rest of the package should impress even you…" and she walks me through the special software she's had installed on my computer. Not only does will it type as I talk (not something I really need, I type faster than I speak) but it'll read back to me what I've written and _that_ could come in real fucking handy… it can read other things too, although I still think my favourite porn sites are something never to be enjoyed again… Men are visual creatures when it comes to stuff like that. I can listen to "Dirty Debby" moan all day long and it just isn't going to be half as gratifying as watching her with her ass in the air… ahh well…

"One last thing," Eddas says – by now she's perched on the edge of my desk, facing me, "You know I can't suborn perjury, but you should be aware that certain files in my office – things like how long Milo Givens has been involved with the DOJ, for instance – those are the kinds of things no judge will_ ever_ see."

Well isn't that interesting… "Have you ever hauled him in front of a judge?" I ask.

"A couple of times – usually within a week of my calling him in. Of course those hearings have all been all sealed up tight. Your hearing next week won't quite be a circus, but there's no way I can get it sealed. I know Douglas Mitchel will be there, probably trying to make you feel uncomfortable."

I wave that aside – even if I do end up sweating it because he's there, no one will ever know it. Besides, I'm pretty sure I know what she's really trying to tell me without telling me, and if I'm right… "How many people know about Milo's little moonlight gig here, anyway?"

"Me. Patrick. You. And I'm sure I don't have to tell you why I keep certain things under very tight wraps, Sands. Just like I kept bringing you home as quiet as I could, all things considered. You know better than I do what the CIA would do if they found out about Milo – or anyone else I might have in my office. But I do take care of my own. I know you've been with me long enough to know that." And I know she's placing a very careful (if subtle) emphasis on certain words, too…

So, just fuck me all over again and make it good, because I hear her loud and clear. The lady _really_ wants me to carry this farce out in front of a judge… but that means _she's_ going to carry it through on her end – it means I really have been with her office for a lot longer than the week, even if it isn't true in "real" reality, it's true in the reality she's setting up for me. It means she really has my keister covered…

"You know you're going to lose your job at the CIA – there's nothing I can do to prevent that."

"Even if – if I didn't have this cozy little office in your building, I was going to lose my job there anyway." Barillo made sure of that.

"Do you mind I ask you a couple of personal questions?"

"Mind if we do this somewhere where I can have a cigarette?"

"I'll get my coat – there's a spot on the roof I used to sneak off to."

"You smoke?"

"I quit a few years ago after my brother was diagnosed with lung cancer."

"Ah."

I know, I know, I'm headed that way too. Every time I get a physical, I expect something to turn up – but it never does. I always figure it's somebody's twisted idea of humour to keep me around as long as possible. I must be pretty amusing to watch from Up There...

…By the time Eddas gets back, Spencer and I are ready to go… it's a short trek up to the roof. It's cold out and the snow is really coming down hard, but I don't mind. I'd rather be here than Mexico. "How long ago?" I ask her, as I light up my smoke.

"Hmm? Oh – ten years now."

"And your brother – ?"

"Died. Heart attack – two years ago."

Now if that isn't fucking irony, all that time worrying about his lungs and his heart does him in…

"But I watched him go through it – it wasn't pretty. I've never been able to look at a cigarette the same way since."

I inhale deeply, but make a point to aim my exhale away from her – hey, this lady is saving my ass, I'm not stupid enough to antagonize her. And besides – I think I like her. "So – you wanted to ask me something there Big Boss Lady?"

"I've been going over your record – it looks like you were really headed somewhere once – what happened?"

"It might look good on paper – but I've _always_ been like this."

"Arrogant, self destructive and psychotic?"

That makes me laugh. "Sociopathic, actually. And amoral while you're at it, thank you."

"As I understand it, those are the things that make a good operative."

"It helps not to have a conscience," I grin at her. But I know what she's asking – she's trying to figure out just how I got this way. I really think Al's right – I'm just wired up differently than the rest of the world. "I figured out a long time ago that unless you make the effort to actually _enjoy_ yourself a little, life just really sucks." (I hear her laugh, just a little at that one.) "I won't bore you with the sob story of my 'tender years' – I'm sure you've seen it in black and white, anyway. It doesn't get any more interesting when I tell it – but hey, if you really want a lively re-telling of my childhood you can always go talk to my sister," I turn and lean against the ledge – the view from up here must really be grand. "She puts on a real good show, complete with tears and hysterical melodrama."

"I'm not sure anyone would look at your career as an effort to enjoy yourself, Sands."

"You would've had to've been there to really appreciate it, Doll Face."

"Eastern Europe?"

Fuck. "How much did Milo tell you?"

"Almost nothing."

"Than that's as much as you really want to know." I toss my spent cig to the roof. "But – take my word on it – I was a lost cause long before my little all expenses paid vacation in sunny Fucks-its-stan-okov."

"I'm not sure I believe that – "

"I didn't break under the pressure," I snap at her. "I didn't limp away from that and get all trigger happy all of a sudden – I was _always_ this way." Just ask fucking Chet Wheaton… just ask my sister…

"That's not what I meant – I meant that I don't think you're a lost cause."

Oh. Oops. "Sorry," and I really do make the effort to sound sincere. "I guess I didn't sleep real well the last few days. I get a little edgy when I'm over tired."

"Why don't you go home and get some rest. I'll have that material recorded for you over night – it'll be on your desk when you get in tomorrow. And like I said, I'll be around all day tomorrow if you need anything else read to you."

I favour her with a bit of a smirk, "I really didn't think the boss did grunt work."

"She does when she wants to get the job done."

Yeah, that's kinda what I figured…

"Hey – " I call to the boss as we part company at the end of the stairwell, back inside – Eddas doesn't say anything, but I hear her turn towards me. "That's a real dandy office by the way. Thanks."

She just chuckles softly – yeah, she gets what I'm saying…

...Home. It's not a word that's really ever meant much – it was always just that place where I hung up my hat. An empty apartment, four walls and a roof with rented furniture – rented companionship when I was actually in the mood for human contact, or feeling a little horny. Milo's right – there's not much difference between buying a stranger in a bar few drinks and picking up a working girl (or in his case boy) on the street.

Even when I was growing up, 'home' was just that place I went to at the end of the day, just that place where I slept. It was never permanent – so there was no point in getting attached to anything. Or anyone… until now.

Beth.

Mon ange.

Cicliy.

Mon petit ange.

Emma.

Mon petite pain cheri…

(no, really _pain_ is muffin in French… it's just a coincidence that the word happens to describe her in English as well… I think her mother might have called that serendipity…)

I slide out of the cab and all I want is to get inside – to be home. Even if the place itself isn't home, I have someone waiting for me – and that makes all the difference in the world –

"Jeff – "

Paula. I force a smile in her direction and fish out what's left of my pack of smokes…

"Have a nice trip?" Judging by the sound of her approach, she was camped out across the street laying in wait for her quarry. That of course would be lil' ol yours truly.

"It was just peachy-keen, thanks for asking," I get my cigarette lit and manage not to inhale as deeply as I really want to.

Paula slides her arm into mine, "Let's take a walk."

I fold up the cane so I've got her on one side and Spencer on the other. It does go through my mind that I could probably refuse to go – Spencer here is a fully trained guard dog, after all… but… there is something persuasive about Paula's tone... "Hope I didn't keep you waiting out here long Hot Lips – I'd hate to have that cute little tush of yours getting frost bite."

"I haven't been here that long – remember, I know you. When you're at your best you always head into 'the office' before calling it a night."

"And when I'm at my worse?"

"You check yourself into the nearest cantina. But I noticed that you had yourself a little housekeeper, so I figured you'd be home sooner rather than later."

I don't let her description of Beth – or at least I don't let it show. I just smile sweetly and ask Paula if she's really sure she wants to be seen in public with me.

"Your company's worth the risk. Besides, everyone back at Langley knows I'm investigating you – so I'm sure they'll just chalk it up to me using our history to my advantage. Everyone knows what a dog you are."

Yeah. That's me. Can't keep it in my pants – that's how I ended up losing my eyes, remember…?

…………………………………

"Tell me something honestly, Jeff – is your little housekeeper really the reason you didn't go home with me the other night?" Paula asks – we're sitting on a very familiar park bench. I can't quite make out that underlying something in her tone, though…

"Does it make a difference?" I inquire, lighting up another cigarette.

"Not really – just call it feminine curiosity."

"And if she_ is_ the reason –?" I wonder.

"I'm just surprised, that's all. She's not what I would have expected out of you – and _not _what I would have ever expected to be turned down for."

It's really all I can do to keep my tone neutral. "Life is just full of little surprises, I guess."

"You_ really_ like this woman, don't you?" (No, that's not malice or jealousy – it's – I don't know what it is… it's like the honest-to-fucking-God sincerity she had the other day back at CIA central, when she asked about my injuries, off the record. Like she really _cares_ … ) "Jeff?"

_Definitely time to change the subject._ "So how goes the investigation, there, Hot Lips?"

Thankfully, Paula is either kind enough or just plain bright enough to catch the hint that I do _not _want to talk about Beth… "I'm still putting the pieces together – but I'm kind of surprised Dan Collins is still breathing."

I just smirk back at her.

"DOJ have you on that short of a leash?"

"I've got my own reasons for keeping Collins around." (Bullshit… I want him so far down the worms will have to go digging if they want to nibble on his festering carcass…)

"Like getting to Rebecca Suarez – I'm assuming I don't have to tell you about that?"

"Nope."

"I don't have to tell you that Suarez is working with a guy called Gomez De Jesus – or that Gomez De Jesus just happens to be the head of what was once the Barillo cartel – _or _that Corazon was about to turn Barillo over to the DEA, despite a few technicalities in the extradition treaty – do I?"

"Nope, nope and nope some more – sorry Sugar, beat you to all that."

Paula moves in close enough to make me just a wee bit uncomfortable… especially when I find her hand on my knee…

"How about this – I couldn't find even a _ghost_ of a record that you talked to Collins after October thirteenth," she moves in closer still, "But I did get my hands on some information that makes a good case for the order to take out Barillo coming from the White House after all. Pitch that cigarette and I'll tell you all about it."

That just doesn't make sense… and that hand creeping up my thigh, making it real hard for me to keep cool over here… although I have the feeling she's not putting a move on me, she's playing to whatever audience she suspects we might have. I toss my smoke over my shoulder, "I'm all ears, Sugar."

"Kiss me – and reach into my coat. Inner pocket, left hand side."

"I never have been one to turn down the chance to kiss pretty lady," I smile and follow her instructions – it's a case of some sort, small, cylindrical, metallic... I slide it up into the sleeve of my coat… and yeah, it's a damn nice kiss, too… I really did call her Hot Lips for a reason…

"Micro chip inside," she tells me quietly a few moments later... Paula's face is pressed up against mine so close I can feel her lips moving against my cheek; she has her hand is on my other cheek, cradling my face up against hers – and – and it's just pretend – she's playing and I'm playing along – but it feels natural. Comfortable, warm – like putting on a favourite shirt, right from the dryer – it's like it's new, but everything is completely familiar... "Your boss at the DOJ should find the information useful. Just leave my name out of it." Paula slides her lips against mine a second time and our tongues dance some more…

"Tell me something," I ask in between kisses, "The other night –?"

"If you ever change your mind – or get tired of playing house – you know where to find me," she purrs softly, right into my ear. "This has nothing to do with that – I told you, I'm after the truth – and I know you're a lot of things, but a traitor just isn't one of them." She kisses my cheek one last time before pulling away. "I have to get back to work – and you'd better wipe my lipstick off your mouth before you get home to your little girlfriend."

Girlfriend. Not housekeeper. Yes, kemo sabes, there's a difference and she knows I get it… or at least she wants me to know_ she_ gets it. Beth is why I didn't go home with her. This little production here – this was just for the benefit of anyone who happened to be watching. (Oh of course the offer is still open, she wouldn't have said so if it weren't – I'm just pretty sure Paula isn't expecting to find me at her doorstep any time soon… even though it really was a damn nice kiss. Come on gang, give me a break, I'm only human here... if I really wanted her, I would have gone home with her the other night when I could have at least used the tequila as an excuse.)

I feel Paula standing to leave, "See you around, Jeff – maybe I'll come visit you in prison."

I just smirk at her, "We'll see."

"One of us will, anyway."

Ouch. Even if I know she didn't mean it, _fucking **ouch**_….

Now… home… and it's not the walk I dread, it's what I'm going to walk into when I get there that worries me, because deep down in my gut, I just _know_ Beth saw me leave with Paula…

………………………………………………………………..


	41. There's No Place Like Home

**MontanaAntonia:** Thank you so much! I feel really honoured and flattered that you like"my"Sands so much. (And thanks to everyone else, too :) I appreciate all my reviewers tremendiously.)

I'll list all the songs/artists at the end along with all the Depp movie references (including a couple that I didn't intend but just sorta happened ;-) But I've included a partial list at the end of this chapter to "get you started"

And again, thank you to everyone, for reviewing and/or putting this one on your alert list. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story…

I really feel like Sands emotions are all over the board in this one – but it's a little challenging to write 'guilt' in someone who would never really acknowledge the word himself ;) (Of course he wouldn't be our dear Sands if he could EVER be so uncomplicated as to just say "And I feel guilty as shit")

**Chapter Forty:**

_There's no place like home…_

Walking into the condo, I get a serious shiver of deja vous. And it's not the good kind, either.

"I'm awake," Beth tells me from the sofa.

It's still early so I'm not surprised by that – but – yeah, her tone is pretty tepid there. She saw. I know she saw.

"How was your trip?" she puts down whatever she was doing and comes to greet me – but she doesn't get real close.

I just shrug in answer to her question. "It's good to be back." There isn't much else I can say. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her long and hard. I want to taste her lips and feel the soft warmth of her body pressed up against mine – but if she were to push me away, it would just hurt too damned much. I can't risk that kind of hurt – I know what it would do to me.

Without a word, Beth takes my hat and coat and hangs them on the hooks by the door while get Spencer's harness undone. If it weren't for this fucking coldness between us, it really would feel normal, just two people going about the business of the day. But there _is_ this cold. And it hurts (but not as much as it would hurt of she pushed me away.) There really is a part of me wants to come clean just and tell her everything that happened, hope she understands that it really wasn't real – not _really_ real. It wasn't a kiss for the sake of a kiss, even if I did enjoy it. However, another part of my brain reminds me who the fuck I've been working for the last sixteen years. I know that Beth and the girls been out of the house while I was away, and it would be nothing for the CIA to break in and bug the place when no one was home. I mean, Paula was sure _acting _like we were being watched (and I have no reason to doubt her, I fucking trained her – yeah, once upon a time, Paula was my little protégé just like I was Marcus's. And um just for the record, no Marcus and I never got quite that _fucking_ close, thank you. I did look up to him, though; I still do. I never wanted to burn that bridge… but no regrets, right? No regrets and no apologizes. No going back…)

So – not only is it realistic to assume that the Company's got this place bugged, but it's not particularly unrealistic to assume that one of the guys watching me for Mitchel is reporting back to Suarez as well – even if Milo tells me she's still going about with business as usual, she's gotta be getting nervous by now. And that means _two_ things. One is obvious: sooner or later Collins is going to find me (fucking duh, I expected that), but more immediately, it means I can't just come clean with Beth right here, right now. I can't screw Paula over after she's gone out of her way to help me because I know Mitchel will skin her alive if he finds out what she did for me tonight.

He won't be the worst of her problems, however, if her name ever gets connected to that information she handed over. I have no reason to doubt that what she gave me isn't exactly what she says is it is – it isn't _just_ information that I can use clear my 'good name' (although I suspect that's why she handed it over, Paula never has been one to sit by while a guy gets railroaded, even if that guy is me… ) No, she gave me _exactly_ what Eddas has been looking for, solid evidence of corruption in the highest branches of government. And if the little birdies up on those little branches ever find out who went and shook the tree… yeah, it's not _just _a career ending move for Paula. I don't know why she would stick her neck out this far for my sorry ass, but I owe her and I know it.

So I can't say anything until I can tell Beth the whole story… and I can't do anything to rouse anyone's suspicions about anything, in case I am being watched as closely as I think I might be… So just fuck me and then do it again up the ass for good measure, because right I'm backed into a fucking corner and I don't like it. I have to somehow make things right with Beth, but I can't just tell her what really happened (which is still a fucking roll of the dice – I mean really how good does this sound, 'Well, yes, dear, I kissed that other woman and it was really fucking great – but it was just us playing spy, it wasn't real, not like the other night when she came onto me like a train wreck and asked me back to her place...' Yeah. That would go over like a lead balloon.)

I don't get much more of a chance to wallow in my muddled thoughts, however, because there are some little feet bounding down the stairs… "Sheldon!" Cicily hurtles into the room sounding so absolutely happy to see me. I find her arms around my waist before I even know what's hit me. "I_ missed_ you!"

And why does hearing that hurt – ? I hug her back, holding her close, not knowing what else to do, but not wanting her to know that I'm hurt… "I missed you too, Sweetheart," _mon petite ange…_ my little angel. _I missed you so much…_ (and I know it's fear, not hurt – fear of the unknown, because I just don't know what's going to happen next… So far it sounds like Beth is just hanging back, just watching me…)

Emma's just behind Cicily (Emma, _mon pain cherri_… gotta admit, that's kinda funny, even if I'm not in a real jovial mood just right now… ) Her greeting is much more sedate, but no less warm. "I'm glad you made it back in one piece, Shelly."

I hold Em close, "I told you I wasn't going to be getting into too much trouble," I tell her. I wonder what Mitchel will really have to say when he sees this, assuming I'm not just being completely paranoid about being watched. And taped. The Company always tapes shit like this for posterity. Just as well, it's the only way anyone will be able to prove to Mitchel that this is really happening. I mean, come on – _me,_ Sheldon Jeffrey Fucking Sands getting all warm and fuzzy… ? Who would believe it? I'm not even real sure Mitchel will believe it after he sees it for himself…

I listen to the girls say their hellos to Spencer while I light up a cigarette and for a few minutes things seem almost normal, almost ok (almost wonderful), but I wonder what it might have been like if Paula hadn't been waiting for me outside my door. I imagine coming in and pulling Beth to me, kissing her, telling her all the things I just don't have the words to say anyway. Things like how much I missed her and how much she really means to me. Things like how happy she's made my miserable little life. Things like – like fucking could've, would've, should've don't count for shit. I know it, you know it. I don't have the words for any of that, not even in my own head. I would have kissed her all right, and I would have held her tight, but I never would have told her any of that stuff about missing her or – or anything else.

Christ, I really don't know why she's still here anyway. You'd think a woman like Beth would want a guy who – who's just better at telling her all those things chicks dig hearing. You know the ones, those things I've never said to anyone… Christ on a crutch – I need a cigarette… oh yeah, right. I've got one, don't I? Guess it isn't helping.

I finish my smoke and Beth feeds me dinner (she and the girls have already eaten) and we talk about tomorrow's outing (Cicily is _very_ excited about it).

Then I listen to Emma tell me about her new school – Eddas took her to the interview and showed her around personally. They don't have Russian as an elective, but the art teacher isn't a moron and they've agreed to let her to test for AP classes next semester – she'll have to take the tests over winter break, but Em doesn't seem to mind. (Although she's not real keen on the uniforms: white blouse, shit brown and mustard yellow plaid skirt – her words, not mine – with a matching tie and a shit brown blazer. She has to wear white socks or hose with black flats, shoes not boots, that have rubber soles no higher than two inches, single buckle or lace up, but not tennis shoes. Apparently there was a nasty incident last year involving 'inappropriate footwear' – so she'll have to go out on Sunday and buy a pair of shoes because she's pretty sure nothing she owns would fall under the category of 'approved.') But new shoes, 'wicked gross' uniform and all, Emma agrees to give the place an honest try – and I remind her again what I'll do if I catch her cutting classes. She really does _not_ want me going to school with her every day.

Somehow, I don't think the school does either, they sound pretty fucking conservative. Although Em tells me that her piercings are ok (colour me surprised), so long as she avoids wearing the kinds of earrings I already lectured her about not wearing. Why? Well, you take a girl (or a boy) with long dangly earrings – then you put her in a fight – and those aren't just earrings any more, they're fucking targets. I should know, I've ripped out a few… And oh yeah, one last thing about that school of Emma's, even though it's technically a co-ed facility, the campus is strictly segregated, girls on one half, boys on the other, and ne're the twain shall meet. The only classes she'll have with the little boyos are drama, orchestra, and possibly a couple of AP classes – just the ones that are too small to segregate. Emma isn't quite as elated about that part as I am… but she'll live. And so will all the boys she won't get to meet and suck face with. I don't want my little muffin ending up a twenty-six year old virgin or anything, but that doesn't mean there's any reason to rush things, either.

After dinner Emma takes my hand and 'shows' me that she's already given herself that little haircut she told me she was thinking about. Her head kinda feels like Demi Moore's looked like in G. I. Jane. But it's hair, it'll grow… I really wonder what happened to those long blond pig tails, she was _so_ pretty… and I missed the last three years because I was too fucking lazy to get my God damned mail forwarded… yeah, I'm in a fuck of a mood and I know it.

(And through out all of this, Beth is politely reserved. Not quite icy – but – yeah. I know she knows. I just can't do anything to fix it without compromising Paula…)

Cicily doesn't mention school, so I don't ask, but I'm guessing Beth still hasn't told her they're staying… and there's a part of me that wonders if maybe even before seeing me walk off with Paula Basil that she hadn't changed her mind on me. (Could I blame her? There's a reason guys like me don't get into relationships – lots of reasons, really, but one of the big ones is never being around. What woman wants to wait for days, or weeks or months, for her – whatever I am – to come home? What woman wants a man who can't even tell her where he's going?)

In the hall, the clock chimes eight, signaling Cicily's bedtime (which of course she protests.) I volunteer to get her into bed – Beth doesn't say a word to that, other than to tell Cicily good night and remind her to brush her teeth and hair...

After she gets herself ready, Cicily crawls into bed and I sit down next to her, but I'm finding it almost impossible to sit still and pay attention while she reads to me. I carefully count three turns of the page, then tell Cicily that it's time for her to get to some sleep because we have a big day tomorrow… and it hits me this could be the last time I get to tuck her into bed. Maybe I should have been paying more attention while she was reading, just in case… I give her forehead a little kiss and accept the hug she has for me. _Please just don't let it be the last time… _

"I'm glad we're here," Cicily tells me softly, not quite letting go.

"I'm glad to have you here."

"Do you think – you might – want us to stay? Mama said not to ask – but – but she always tells me that if I want to know something I _should_ ask – "

Oh Christ – how do I answer that – how do I answer it so Beth won't look like the bad guy (you know, by saying something like 'Well that's up to your Mom…' See, I'm not a _total_ fuckmook… and why didn't Beth want her to ask… maybe her gut told her I'd go and kiss some other woman tonight…?) "I think I'd like for you guys to stay – but I think we'll have to wait and see before we can really talk about it. You only just got here, remember?" I try to keep my tone light…

It's probably wasn't the answer she was hoping for, either. "I really like being here, Sheldon. I like being with you – I like reading to you. I like the snow." Cicily tells me, "Mama's happy here too – she likes you."

Oh Christ… "You think so?"

"I know so. She was never happy like this when – when we lived in Alabama."

Alabama equals Neal and thinking about Neal really makes me want to kill somebody – somebody named Neal.

I pull Cicily close; I want to tell her I that won't let that creep ever hurt either of them again – but even I know better than to make promises like that to a child. "Well you guys are both _real _special to me," I tell her. What else can I say? "We're just gonna have to see about the rest of it, ok?"

"Why? Why can't we just stay together?"

"Because grown ups always make things harder than they have to be – now get to sleep," I give her another small kiss wondering what I'll really do if Beth tells me they're leaving. What could I do? I promised her she'd always have a way out – and even if I went back on my word, it's not like I could keep her here if she doesn't want to stay. But – no if she wants out, I'll buy her a plane ticket to wherever she wants to go – or just give her the cash if she doesn't want me to know where she's headed. There really isn't anything I wouldn't do for her… if she'll let me.

I listen to Cicily settle herself into the covers and I really, really hope this isn't the last time I get to tuck her in like this. I never thought I'd want this life, but having gotten just a small taste of all those things I never thought I'd be able to have anyway, I don't want to go back to that other life. I think I finally get what 'having it all' is really all about…

Passing Emma's door, I hear music – a raven's not so soft 'caw' – and the sounds of computer keys clacking madly. I honestly try not to think about who she's chatting with or emailing – it's better for what's left of my sanity that way. (I know, it's stupid of me to be jealous of this Jim guy – or freak out about 'Jay' – but – I guess I can't help it.) I only stay there for a minute, listening…

…Downstairs, I find Beth on the sofa – and I guess I should just get it over with. "You saw?"

"Yeah. I – heard the cab pull up and – and – so that was her?"

And I know what Beth said about not treating her like she's so fragile a slight breeze could break her – but right now she sounds real damned breakable to me. "Yeah. That was Paula."

"She really is gorgeous."

I take a careful seat on the sofa, leaving about half a cushion between Beth and I. "Not compared to you." (I mean it, I really do; I only wish I could tell if Beth believes me, but she isn't giving me any kind of clue about what might be going on in her head.)

"What did she want?"

"Just to talk."

She's quiet for a few seconds – and I really do wonder if somehow she knows about that kiss… I don't believe in that hocus pocus shit, I really don't, but I can't deny how uncanny she can be… and if this is a test, I'm failing it miserably.

"Can I ask about what?"

"Just – she's investigating me, you know that shit that went down. She needed to – talk to me about it." I hate this – I really, really fucking hate this. Beth has_ gotta _see through me. I mean, I really _am_ the best bullshitter you'll ever meet, but I'm just not doing a very good job it right now. (Honestly, I think part of me really wants her to confront me. I want her to get all pissed and scream at me – it's what I deserve, right? I don't want her to walk out – but I want her to scream at me and tell me just what kind of fucking asshole I really am. I want her to tell me she hates me – I just don't want her to mean it.)

"You know if you tell me nothing happened I'll believe you – but – what I said before hasn't changed, either. I'll take whatever you're willing – or able – to give. I just – need you to tell me, that's all. I just need to know where I stand – one way or the other, it doesn't matter as long as I know."

"Beth, vous êtes mon ange, rappelez? Personne ne peuvent concurrencer – concurrencer ce que je pense de toi." (And I swear, I _will_ come clean with her as soon as I'm sure I can tell her the whole story without compromising Paula's position. In the meantime, all I can do is try not to flat out lie to her. I know, I know, a lie of omission is still a lie – but it's the best I can do right now. Huh – oh, what did I say? Just that she's my angel and no one can compare to that. Like I said, it's a lie of omission – but it _is_ the truth.)

She doesn't say anything, but I feel her leaning towards me and I fold my arms around her, and oh God, but it feels good to have her this close again. I lean back pulling her with me and just try to memorize every little detail of the way her body feels against mine, every curve and contour, the soft crinkly cotton of her blouse and the silk skirt – feels like it's layered and there are some dangly bits sewn in here and there… My angel really is a little gypsy at heart, isn't she?

I run my fingers over her face and through her hair – "What's this?" I ask of the jewelry dangling from her ear lobes. Doesn't feel too big – just something dangling from a wire – I'm not sure what the something is. There seems to be something carved into the back of the something…

"You like them?" Beth asks – she seems a little hesitant, almost like she's afraid I'll really say no.

"I don't know – what do they look like?"

"It's just a carved amber cab – cabochon – nothing much."

"You're talking to a guy who knows squat about jewelry, Darlin'." I smile down at her. (I really have to wonder what got her to the point where she doesn't wear jewelry… I suspect it goes back to Neal and I really wish she'd just let me handle him my way… )

"Take a sphere – cut it in half – and you get two cabochons."

"So what's carved into it?" I ask, as I try to discern the design for myself. It is pretty small… and she really does seem a awful shaky.

"A rose. Emma kind of talked me into them – "

"Sounds beautiful," I brush a bit of hair out of her face. "I like jewelry on a woman – although I Em may take it a wee bit far."

I feel more than hear her laugh – but I still dig it when she's happy… except that I know she's only happy because I'm lying to her… I _want_ to come clean, I really do. I want to just fucking tell her everything and take whatever's coming to me because I _did_ enjoy that kiss with Paula (I'm human, ok, give me a break. It was good – but Paula never made me feel the way I do right now. I never thought about her when we weren't together, not like I found myself thinking about Beth the last couple of days. I never _missed_ Paula. I _never_ loved her… and it never bothered me when I slept with other women during that year and I half I was sleeping with her… So why does that stupid kiss have my insides all tied up in knots anyway? If I never told Beth about it, she wouldn't know… only that would be an even bigger betrayal of her trust and I just can't do that… and fuck if I know why.)

"Sheldon – what's the matter?"

I lean over and kiss the top of her head, "Nothing, Sweetheart. Just let me – let me hold you a while – ?" _Please…_

Beth pulls in closer to me, wrapping her arms around me nice and tight. "I'm here," she tells me quietly. "Whatever it is – I'm here."

"I just need to feel you against me, that's all."

"I think I can manage that," she's smiling, I can hear it in her voice… I really wish she'd just scream at me and get it over with…

Then, suddenly, I'm sitting on the sofa all by my lonesome… _of course, fuckmook, you fell asleep… _

It really is hard to discern waking from sleeping when you don't have fucking eyes to open and shut any more. If I was just blind, it would still all be dark; waking and sleeping would still look just the same – but if I at least had eyes to open, I might know when I was waking up. If I had eyes to close, I might know when I was falling asleep. But I don't have eyes, do I? I don't even have eyelids. All I have are these two fucking huge holes in the middle of my head. I'm not _just_ blind… and there really are moments when I wish I'd curled up and died that day. Guess I'm just too fucking stubborn, for my own good.

And I guess I don't blame even an angel for getting up and leaving my ass asleep here in the dark. Alone. I've never felt quite so alone as I do right at this moment – but I'm sure she's just upstairs asleep… right? I mean, really, Beth is a sensible woman, she wouldn't just bundle Cicily up and take off in the middle of the night… would she? I know that's what she did to Neal – but that's different – right? (Even if she did just up and leave – do I deserve any better? Should I be surprised if I they've gone?)

Just then I hear soft footfalls on the stairs – "Beth?"

"You fell asleep," she tells me softly.

And I think I can breathe again because she's still here. She's _really_ still here…

"I went up to get you a pillow and blanket – I brought down a clean pair of sweats and a t-shirt for you, too. And um – I hope you don't mind, but I tossed that bathrobe of yours into the wash while you were gone. It reeked to high Heaven."

I feel the familiar terry of my robe being dropped into my lap – only – it no longer smells of nicotine. It smells – it smells kind of like she does. "I don't mind. What time is it?"

"Almost midnight."

So – that means she sat with me for almost three hours? "Thanks."

"For?"

"Everything."

I can hear her smile in her voice, "De nada, Cowboy."

"No – es todo." _Usted es todo – you're everything…_ everything good, everything worthwhile – everything I want. Everything I _need_. And I'm so absorbed in my own head that I barely feel her leaning over – but those lips touching mine bring me right back to here and now – right back to where I want to be… and more than anything else in the world, I want her to stay with me, not because I'm afraid of her running off in the middle of the night (ok, so maybe I am a little afraid of it), but because I really need to feel her touch as I drift off to sleep, as I drift from one kind darkness into another. I need desperately not to be alone in the dark tonight and I would more than happily sleep sitting up if she'd stretch out on the sofa and just stay with me… but I can't ask. No matter how much I need to feel her near me tonight – I just can't ask. But I can kiss her – I can cup her face in my hands and kiss her the way I wanted to when I came in. I can savour the sweetness of her mouth on mine; I can savour her warmth and her scent and every little thing about her… I can memorize every little detail in case she ends up hating me tomorrow.

"I never would have pushed you away," Beth tells me quietly when our lips finally part, a good long while later (but still too soon for me.)

I give a gentle tug to bring her into my lap – into my arms.

"No matter how upset I was – I never could have pushed you away," she repeats when I don't say anything.

"I'm sorry," I only wish I could tell her everything I'm sorry for. I'm sorry for that kiss I gave Paula, even if it was 'in the line of duty' – and I'm sorry for lying to her about it. I'm sorry I'm such a schmuck, I just can't ever seem to help it. I'll _always_ be the bad guy…

"You should get some sleep," Beth tells me softly.

"I know. I just really like being here with you like this."

"We can talk Cicily tomorrow morning. I'll tell her we're staying," Beth's voice is real quiet.

And I really don't know quite what to say (you've gotta admit, that was a little left field, even for her…)

"I know it's bothering you that I haven't told her yet."

"It's ok."

"No it's not. It was my idea – and then I chickened out on you."

"That's ok, too."

"Sheldon – "

"Shhhh – " I pull her close, "I just really need to feel you here. I know it's selfish – but – maybe five minutes?"

"You can have all night if you want it."

"You really would do that, wouldn't you?" (Maybe I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. Every time she does something so incredibly generous, she blows my socks right off, because I really don't expect it, not even from my angel.)

"Wouldn't be the first time – don't you remember?"

(And I swear, she sounds hurt, like I might have somehow forgotten…)

"Of course I remember. But that was different." I had a fever – I was having nightmares. I was still recovering – but now, everything that _can_ heal has. My eyes will never grow back. I'll never see again. I'm not sure I'll ever feel the same way about anything – I'm not sure I know how.

I feel Beth's fingers gently caressing my cheek, "I'll always be here for you Sheldon, no matter what you need or what you want. I'll take whatever you have to give – just as long as you really want me around."

"I don't deserve you, Ange," I stroke her cheek lightly, "But I do want you."

"Just keep telling me that here is where you really want to be."

"Here is exactly where I want to be."

She leans up and kisses me some more – "Why don't you get ready for 'bed' – I'll wait."

"You don't have to –" (Even if I want her to – I can't ask her to stay.)

"I don't mind."

And I really don't want to tell her how much I need her right now. I don't want to ask her to stay with me – but I don't know how to tell her to just go up to bed either, because I really doneedher near me tonight. "I – I won't be long," I kiss Beth again (marveling at the way she kisses me back. She's so – fearless. So trusting… so fucking amazing…) then I slide out from underneath her and scoop up my shit, heading towards the downstairs bathroom to change, brush my teeth – you know all the usual crap. The only thing I don't do is switch out the glasses for that mask – both of them gifts from my angel. The angel who's really waiting for me on the sofa when I return, just like she said she would be. I really do not deserve her…

"I'm sorry about earlier – about over reacting like that," she says quietly as I settle back down next to her.

"You have every reason to be suspicious." Which probably could have come out better – 'Freudian' slip, perhaps? (It isn't really Freudian – but anyway…)

She just chuckles, "I know what you meant – you don't think of yourself as the kind of guy who inspires a whole lot of confidence."

Yeah. I don't think I'm so far off the mark, either. I'm not a guy who's real fucking reliable… "Everything I said before I left – I meant it all, Ange. You are _all_ that I want." I only hope she'll still believe that after tomorrow – after I tell her about that kiss… and I suppose I really could just not tell her, but – I don't know, I don't think I can keep on lying to her even if it is only a lie of omission. As it is, I'm expecting her to nail my ass to a wall right now, tell me that if she's all I want, why did I go and kiss another woman… why did I fucking enjoy it… but she doesn't say any of those things.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Sheldon. It was a really, really stupid thing to say you and I am _so sorry_ – "

"Hey, hey, hey, Sweetheart – I didn't bring it up to hold it over your head," I cup her face in my hands. "I want you to know that – that I just don't want anybody else. We didn't get a chance to really talk about it with me having to head out of town so early the other morning – but I want you to know that – that I would be really hurt if you wanted to see other people. Believe me, I know that's asking a lot – you're right about barely knowing each other. But – it's how I feel – and I want you to – to know that." And that little limb I've crawled right to the end of is either going to hold or crack under my weight… personally, I'm expecting to find the ground under my ass real damn soon… of course it would help if she'd say something.

"I'm just – thinking – that's all," Beth's voice is real quiet.

"Can I ask what exactly you're thinking about?" Yeah, I'm a little afraid to hear the answer to that question.

"Just – just that – it's hard to explain. At least – in a way that I'm sure won't completely freak you out or scare you off. But – I haven't wanted to see anybody at all in a long time. I don't want to see anybody else now – there's still stuff we need to talk about, but it's nothing that won't keep 'til morning."

Which means that whatever it is, it can't be bad… I hope. "You can tell me anything – I really don't frighten that easily, Ange," I try to coax her a little.

She chuckles softly – I really,_ really_ dig the sound of her laugh. "Why don't you stretch out and try to get some sleep. I can tell you didn't sleep very well the past few days," she tells me – I'm not sure if she's deliberately changing the subject or if she's just making an (accurate) observation.

"Yeah – I think I scared the bejeezus out of my poor little Tonto," I tell her. I don't really want to stretch out. I don't want to fall asleep again, no matter how tired I am. I just want to sit with her all night – but I _am_ tired. I don't quite ache, but my body is reminding me that I didn't sleep at all well the last few nights (and I'm not a kid any more, either). I end up laying head on her lap (get your minds out of the gutter, kiddies… ok, ok, so I would like to… but anyway… I behave myself.)

Beth runs gentle fingers through my hair while I tell her about that first night in the motel with Tonto. She doesn't say anything, but I can tell she's listening; listening like she really gives a shit about what I have to say, like she really gives a shit about _me_. Her touch is soothing… even when I feel her reaching for the glasses… "Ange – " I begin to protest.

"The girls are both upstairs, out cold," she tells, almost as if she really can read my mind.

I don't want Emma to see – and I'm afraid to ask if Cicily ever did, because this face isn't something any kid should ever have to look at. "I know you know all about what's there – not there – but – how – um – how bright is the room?" I wish I had met her before Guevara butchered my face. I wish she'd seen me the way I used to look… and I wish to God I could see her, just once. I would give just about anything to really look at her face – to see her green eyes and her smile.

"There's just one light on, a table lamp across the room," Beth's voice is soft, full of understanding. It's not sympathy – it's compassion. That's my angel all right.

I just nod. I wish that there wasn't any light at all; I wish the room was as dark for real as it looks from where I'm sitting. I wish she'd never seen my face. (But then who would have taken care of me, I wonder… no one else would have cared and I know it.) I hold my breath as I feel the glasses sliding off – and I listen and feel as she leans over to set them on the coffee table. And – my Christ, she's stroking my cheeks – my brow – my nose – gentle fingers massage the tension out of all the little muscles around my… yeah. You know. (I swear, I really do want to hurl every time she looks at me like this.) "How – how do you do it?" my voice is as shaky as hers was earlier, when we were talking about those new earrings she's got on.

"Shhhh."

"No – please – tell me. How do you do it?" _How can you look at me – how can you **touch** me?_

"I'm a nurse, Sheldon. I was almost a doctor. I really have seen scarier things."

I know there's something she's not telling me… but how can I say that when I'm holding back what I'm holding back?

"You'll only laugh at me," she says then, quietly, still running her fingers over my ruined face.

"I'd never laugh at you."

"Just try to get some sleep – "

"You should get some too."

"I know," she says, but she sits with me anyway, while one darkness begins to fade into another.

"Let's wait until – dinner, to tell Cicily," I murmur softly – I can feel myself drifting off, but – but I know there's something she needs to know before I can ask her to tell her daughter they're staying.

"If that's what you want," Beth doesn't argue – but she does tell me to stop thinking about everything and just try to get some sleep. The last thing I'm consciously aware of is the clock striking two…

………………………………………………………………………………

I'm not a perfect person  
There's so many things I wish I didn't do  
But I continue learning  
I never meant to do those things to you  
And so I have to say before I go  
That I just want you to know

I've found a reason for me  
To change who I used to be  
A reason to start over new  
and the reason is you

I'm sorry that I hurt you  
It's something I must live with everyday  
And all the pain I put you through  
I wish that I could take it all away  
And be the one who catches all your tears  
That's why I need you to hear

I've found a reason for me  
To change who I used to be  
A reason to start over new  
and the reason is you

I'm not a perfect person  
I never meant to do those things to you  
And so I have to say before I go  
That I just want you to know

I've found a reason for me  
To change who I used to be  
A reason to start over new  
and the reason is you

I've found a reason to show  
A side of me you didn't know  
A reason for all that I do  
And the reason is you

**-HOOBASTANK-**

As promised, the songs so far, in no particular order (I think I got them all...)

**By Hoobastank: **

The Reason

**By Enya**:

Exile

Storms in Africa

**By Loreena McKennit**:

The Old Ways

Prospero's Speech,

**By Tatu: **

30 Minutes

**By Rufus Wainwright: **

Hallelujah

**By Samuel Barber:** (referenced, it's instrumental)

Adagio for Strings

**By Yaz: **

Nobody's Diary

**By ****Avril**** Lavigne **

I'm With You

**By ****Sarah Mclachlan **

Fear

Possession

Sweet Surrender

**By Tom Lehrer **

A Christmas Carol

**By Electric Light Orchestra **

I'm Alive (from the _Xanadu _soundtrack)

**By Nitzer Ebb: **

Trigger Happy

**By Golden Earring: **

Twilight Zone

**By Erasure: **

You Surround Me

**By Evanescence: **

Away From Me

Give Unto Me

Bring Me to Life

**By Siouxsie and the Banshees:**

Lullaby

Gun

The Rapture

**By Queen **

Invisible Man

………………………

Secret Agent Man was written by P.F. Sloan and S. Barri – I'm pretty sure it's the Johnny Rivers version that I got stuck in my head that day, but I thought it was interesting that Devo also recorded the song. I can't make up my mind which version Sands might like better…somehow I really see him getting into Devo's "Whip It" - but I imagine Sands as being just a little bit of a perv... in the best possible ways of course ;) (And if anyone wants to know the truth, I've never quite figured out what "Whip It" is really all about, even if you take the video's not so veiled references into consideration.)

…………………..

lots of folks have done versions of The Bastard King of England – my recording is by **Axel the Sot** aka Scott Hendricks.

I haven't referenced any particular songs, but Emma just lovesturning Diamanda Galas up full blast at all the worst possible moments. ( I really do like Diamanda Galas - but I have some real ecclectic taste in music!)


	42. The Sword of Damocles

_Thank you for all the reviews, I hope everyone had a happy holiday! My wonderful husband "fed my habit" this year – I got Edward Scissorhands, Sleepy Hollow, Finding Never Land, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (the 2 disk set) from him. Is that a good man or what…? _

**Chapter Forty One:**

_The Sword of Damocles _

I wake to the smell of coffee brewing and Beth softly humming in the kitchen. I swear, I don't remember her getting up and leaving me, but I feel my face and the mask is securely in place so I guess one of us must have put it there because my last clear memory is of lying there 'naked' and the way she just doesn't seem to mind looking at me like that. I don't think that that will ever cease to amaze me. I just wish I didn't have this_ thing_ hanging over my head. I wish I didn't have something to tell her, something that just might make her hate me… but take what you can get, when you can get it, right? Take what you can and just enjoy the shit out of it for all it's worth… and there aren't too many ways I'd rather wake up than to the sound of my angel humming in the next room over. I lay there and listen to her for a while until the craving for nicotine and caffeine finally drives me from the sofa.

"Morning, Cowboy," Beth says to me as I enter the kitchen. Sounds like she's working on breakfast there by the stove – I don't think anyone else is up, though – the rest of the house is real quiet. Ticking clock in the hall – the sound of the thermostat kicking in – yeah. Quiet. Normal. I could really get used to this… if she lets me. If she doesn't run away…

I wrap my arms around Beth's waist from behind – she responds by making this little sighing sound and easing back into me. I'm so not used to this. I'm used to just fucking and then splitting long before morning… I'm used to having my fun (and delivering up a good go of it in return, thank you) and then – life moves on. Take what you can when you can get and then just move along... But – here I am, holding onto an angel. I can't help myself, I nibble at the back of her neck, and I really dig the little noises makes, the way she backs further into me, her back arching just a little…

"You know, if you actually want to eat breakfast, you need to cut that out," Beth squirms in my grasp, freeing herself from me without actually pulling away; she turns a little and I feel her lips on mine. It's just a soft little kiss – but damn does it feel good. I'm reminded of that first morning she was here. I pull her closer and just hold her. I'm so afraid… I just want to enjoy this for all it's worth… but just please don't let her be so angry with me when I explain that she runs away…

"Everything ok?" Beth asks me then; I feel her brushing the hair out of my face. She knows something's wrong, I know she does…

"Everything's fine," I lie. I hate this. But – I grab my smokes, pour myself a cup of coffee and take Spencer outside to do his thing – and let me tell you, it is fucking freezing out here. I'm in my robe and socks – but damn, I should have grabbed my coat. Fortunately Spencer doesn't seem to like the cold much either – he's ready to come in, in record time.

I hear the shower turn on upstairs – sounds like it's coming from the 'guest' bath – so that must be Emma. Sounds like Cicily is up and moving around too. The clock chimes eight times… what would I even do with myself if she left?

If Beth is unhappy (or even relieved) about holding off on telling Cicily about them staying, she gives no indication. She's warm and lingers near me – I even feel her foot brush up against mine under the table and I'm real sure it's no accident. So for a little while, I let myself forget about what it is I have to tell her and just enjoy the morning for what it is. I stop trying to figure out my next move, if I find her gone tomorrow morning and just – take this morning and pretend that it's all there is… what else can I really do? If she's going to go then she's going to go and there's nothing I can do to stop her.

After breakfast, I grab a quick shower and get dressed (Cicily follows me upstairs to help me pick out a t-shirt – I ask her to find the one Emma got for me.)

"Sheldon, I don't understand what this one means," she tells me, as I come out of the bathroom (in my bathrobe, yes, thank you, duh. _I'm very_ conscious of the fact that there are young females running around.)

"Which one's that?" I ask – the one Emma got me is pretty clear, although I kinda hope I don't have to explain it to her… well, there are any number of things I can say, like people are more dangerous than animals, yeah, that's a good line…

"It says 'I'm with stupid' – and has a hand with the finger pointing down."

Oh fuck. "Um – yeah." Of fuck me but good, how do I get out of this one…

"I've seen the shirts that say 'baby' with an arrow pointing to the mommy's belly – and I've seen ones that say I'm with stupid, but they point to the left or right – but why does yours point down?"

Ok, maybe it was a bad idea to let Cicily help me get dressed… "Um – boys – men – are sometimes – um – dumb. That's all it means." _Please let her buy it…_

"But why does the finger point down?"

"Because – well, it's two dimensional, right, so it can't really point at the person wearing it can it?"

"But Mama says you should never call anyone stupid, not even yourself. La Senoria Coranado says the same thing. She's my teacher, at school. Roberto Ortega came in wearing a shirt that said 'Estoy con el estúpido' with an arrow pointing left and she made him turn it inside out because she said it was rude."

"Well, she's right – and so's your mother. But – well – I'm a guy and sometimes guys are dumb so we do things – or buy things – that – that maybe we shouldn't. Just like your friend Roberto."

"He's _not _my friend. He picks on me and pulls my hair."

"Well – " Ok, I can't go beat up on some seven year old… it's barely a fair fight when I'm dealing with adults. "What does La Senora do about that?"

"She makes him sit in the corner – or go see El Senor Tomaz – that's the principal. He's real mean – he carries a big wooden paddle. But he's never had to use it on me. I still don't like him though."

"How come?"

"He never smiles. And he made Mama real mad once."

"Oh?" This has my curiosity piqued…

"I don't know what he said to her – but he said something that wasn't nice – I could tell. I always know when someone makes Mama mad, the corners of her mouth frown and eyes get all angry looking. She only got that made at me once – I sneaked out all night."

"That probably scared her." I can only begin to imagine…

"Yeah, that's what she said too."

"You know – you shouldn't sneak out like that. Mexico isn't a real safe place for pretty little girls."

Cicily giggles, "It wasn't in Mexico. We were in Arizona – and I didn't go far and I wasn't alone, my friend Yarrow was twelve – but we were gone all night and her Mama got pretty mad too. We were both grounded forever."

Forever huh… I wonder how long forever really was… but, "No where is safe for pretty little girls to go off on their own," I tell Cicily. "And you know never to go off with strangers, right?"

"You were a stranger – but now you're my friend – right?"

"Of course I'm your friend," I tell her, wondering where _that_ came from. "But – look that's just different, ok?"

"How is it different?"

"Hermano's a friend of yours, right?"

"Right."

"And he brought me to your house so your mother could help me," fuck if I'll ever understand why, though. I'd already given the kid all the money I had on me – but he still came back to get me when it was all over…

"So you and Hermano are friends, too?" Cicily inquires.

"Yeah – sort of. It's complicated – just promise me you'll never talk to any strangers, ok?"

"Ok."

Thank goodness_ that's_ settled… "Why don't you head on downstairs so I can get dressed – "

"Do you need any more help?"

"I think I've got it from here, thanks."

And I'm just a little caught off guard when she hugs me – I mean, I really _am _a fucking menace, right? So could you please tell me why this kid seems to like me so much… but you know I'm hugging her back. This could be the last time and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to stop thinking about that… and … it really hurts…..

…..When I get downstairs, I tell Beth that I need to make a quick stop in at the office before the museum – I don't offer up an explanation and she doesn't press for one. Somehow that just makes it worse…

… She and the girls wait in the cab while I run up – I won't be long, I promise them…

And I'm not real surprised to find Eddas in her office already, despite the fact that it's barely ten a.m.

"I didn't expect to see you so early," she says by way of greeting. Although she follows that up by telling me that the coffee I'm smelling is fresh and I'm welcome to help myself.

"Thanks – but I'm just stopped by for a few minutes – I'll be back in later to actually get to work."

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" I'm pretty sure she's smiling – I listen to Eddas get up and get her own cup of coffee.

I just smirk in her general direction, "Couple of things, there Boss Lady. One is I need the condo swept for bugs. Sooner rather than later would be just swell, too."

"I can arrange that – do you think – Milo's involvement – ?"

I shake my head, "Doubt it. The CIA wouldn't have known I was even back in D.C. until I showed at Spook Central with you, and he was long gone by then. Far as I know, they were writing me off as dead – so unless anyone back at Langley can make the connection between him and the owner of that condo –"

"No," she assures me.

Yeah, that's kinda what I thought. Milo is as paranoid as I am – doubly so when it comes to his sexuality. Can't really say I blame him – I mean, I know this is 2003, but just look at the current administration… the CIA might not care, but there are plenty of people here on the ol' Hill who do, o it's no wonder Milo wants to retire.

He'll still have to be careful, and I'm not talking about the fact that he likes boys, just the particular boy that he happens to like. Because, yeah, it could look a might suspicious there, him spending all that quality time with a lead investigator in Eddas' office… But at least he won't be the first person the boys back at Langley look to when they think they smell a rat, not with me and my spiffy new job at the DOJ. (And I have the feeling Mitchel will be looking real hard for any way to hang me high for this little 'stunt' I'm pulling.) So, I guess it all works out… "The other thing is – well, Merry Christmas," I offer up a truly mischievous grin and hand over the package that Paula slipped to me last night. "I know it's a little early and I'm sorry it's not wrapped, but me and scissors and tape – probably not the best combination, if you know what I mean – "

Eddas pretty much ignores my smart-assedness, and takes the 'package' from my hand. "What is it?"

"If my source isn't lying to me – and I don't think they are – it really looks like ol' St. Nick came by early this year – and apparently you've been a _very_ good little girl."

"Sands – "

I just continue to smirk. "Micro chip inside. Enough information to clear my 'good name' – but more interestingly, proof that there really _is_ some kind of conspiracy to off my old friend El Presidente – and it was hatched pretty high up, right here in D.C."

"_How _high?"

"Pennsylvania Avenue high."

"Who's your source?"

"Sorry, Boss. I gave my word," I tell her seriously.

There's a brief moment of silence on Eddas' end. Then, "All right. I can respect that – although your source had better have covered their tracks – and ass – because I'm sure they knew what you were going to do with this – ?"

"Yeperrooni. And – I think the individual in question should be able to cover their tracks – and ass." She had a Hell of a good teacher, after all…

"All right. I'll get someone on this right away – you'll be back in later?"

"After three," I confirm. "But – I kinda promised three ladies a trip to the museum this morning."

"You know – I never would have pegged you as the – family man – type." Eddas says – her tone is – hmmm, mildly amused, but still carefully guarded. I think she's fishing – but trying to do it real fucking carefully. I think I'm honestly confusing here – and this time I'm not even doing it on purpose.

I just give her one of my more charming little smiles, "Me either, Boss Lady, me either." And – I just hope it lasts. I hope I can convince Beth that it wasn't – real. Yeah. Right. I kissed Paula. I liked it. It does occur to me (again) that maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and not tell her about that stupid kiss. It didn't mean anything (even if I did enjoy it)… but I just don't think I can do it. I don't think I can keep on keeping my mouth shut… So I bid Eddas a fond adieu (in those words exactly, just to keep her guessing) with the promise that I'll be back later…

… Now, if you've ever been to the Smithsonian, you know that it's something you can't just take in, in a single day. The place is just that monstrously fucking huge and I swear they really do have a little bit of everything here.

So for just a little while I think I'll try to enjoy myself here… right. Every third guy whose voice I hear sounds just like Dan fucking Collins. Yeah, it's just jumpy nerves and I know it. Even _if_ he's heard that it was me who broke into his storage unit, I doubt he'd think to look for me at the Smithsonian. And even if he did find me here, I know the CIA is tailing me – maybe the feebs, too. Collins might be a fuckmook and a moron, but he won't do anything stupid, not with witnesses like that. I mean, sure, the Company men tailing me _might_ be on Suarez's payroll – but I doubt she got to the feebs, even if it really does go up to the White House, no one up there knows that there tree's about get shook but good; if they did, we'd be playing a different ballgame… yeah, I'm still edgy as Hell. I need this shit to be over with already. I want that life I've been thinking about the last couple of days. I want Beth to understand, to forgive me and to give me the happily ever after she promised… I want a lot and I know it. I want it all…

But first things first, and the first thing we go look at are the dinosaurs. That's Cicily's idea of course. After that, Emma wants to see some of the costuming and textiles. Then we just meander around, letting the girls look at whatever they feel like. Beth walks with me, continually assuring me that she can still see them. (I can hear them up ahead, chatting to one another, but I like it that someone can _see_ them, too. I wish I could relax and really enjoy this…)

…"You're not doing a very good job of taking it easy," Beth tells me, some hours later when we stop to sit down for a bit, while the girls head into the gift shop. It takes me a few seconds to ease myself into a sitting position. I keep forgetting that it really was just a month ago that I got myself all shot full of holes.

"I'm ok," I lie a little. Mostly I am ok… but… I suppose this is as good a time as any for that talk I just don't want to have… and I guess that means I'm not really very ok at all. I fold up the cane and set it next to me… I'm stalling… "Ange – there's – there's something we need to talk about." I don't quite turn my face away from her when I say, but… yeah. _Please just let her understand… _

"What's up?" I can hear the smile in Beth's voice – and it's fucking killing me that I'm about to take that smile away. If there was any way I could not tell her I would… but even I can't just keep pretending it never happened.

"I – it's about last night. I um – I let you believe nothing happened on that little walk I took with Paula. But – I – that's not really exactly quite true."

I hear her breathe in – and out. "I know." Her voice is – quiet. Cold. Real cold.

"You know?"

"I don't know _what _I know – but I know something. I knew it the minute you came in."

"So why – why did you say you'd believe me if I said nothing happened?" _Because, you fuckmook, it was a test. It was a test and you failed …_

"I kept telling myself that I was feeling the way I was feeling because I'd seen you walk off with her. I kept thinking something was wrong – but – but the things I feel – I can be wrong. I've been wrong, specifically about you – – us."

(And I do _not_ like the way she hesitated there, before she said 'us'.)

"So I thought that maybe my imagination was just running away with me. I promised myself that I'd just wait without jumping to anything. I figured I'd ask you what happened and if you told me that nothing happened, I'd believe you. No matter how – scared – I was, I'd believe you."

"You really did believe that nothing happened, didn't you?" I ask. I mean, I never _said_ that nothing happened… but a lie of omission is still a fucking lie, and just a few days ago I told her I'd never lie to her. And… and it sounds like something inside her is crumbling apart…

"Yes. I knew something was wrong – but – I figured that whatever it was – you'd tell me. Or – or maybe it was just something that I didn't need to worry about, something that'd happened while you were away. I took what you said – and – I guess I just read into it what I _wanted_ to hear. What _you_ wanted me to hear."

"I'm sorry." What else can I say? She trusted me. I betrayed that trust. And now – now she's breaking because no matter what she says, I know how fragile my angel really is.

"I told you I'd take _whatever_ you were able to give me, Sheldon. I just wanted to know where I really stood with you, that's all. I was willing to take whatever role you wanted to put me in, even if it was just nurse – or maybe friend with fringe benefits – I could've been happy with that –"

"I know. But that isn't what I want out of this. It's not what I want out of _you_; I don't want you to just sit back take whatever someone dishes up. You deserve more than that – you deserve the world." _And I want to be the guy who gives it to you... _but I'm not real sure she'd believe that right now. Maybe if I really loved her, I would just let her go… that's what they say, right? If you love someone, you let them go… but I'm just a selfish prick. I can't let her go… but maybe I should…

"So – that's why you wanted to put off talking to Cicily?" she asks, real quietly.

"I meant _everything_ I told you last night, Beth. It wasn't just some fucking song and dance number to convince you that nothing happened. And – really – nothing did happen."

"Something happened."

Yeah. Something happened. "Paula asked me to kiss her and I did – but it was _nothing_."

"Maybe we need to start by defining words like nothing," she's almost laughing – but I'm fucking well aware that there are tears hiding behind that laugh. I don't need eyes to see what I'm doing to her.

"It was a ruse – a distraction, that's all. It was nothing."

"A distraction for what?"

"She slipped me something," ok, that could have come out better... but right now, I'm not sure it matters. I'm not sure anything I say is going to matter – but I guess I have to at least try… "I handed it over to Eddas this morning, that's why I needed to go into the office before we came here. Beth, if Paula gave me what I _really_ believe she gave me – it's more than just her career on the line, here. She stuck her neck out on this, and she did it to help me. Beth, this is_ exactly_ the stuff Eddas has been looking for – "

"You could have told me _that_, I would have understood."

I want to reach out and touch her – I want to hold her and never let go – I want to say all the things I really don't have words for… but I'm afraid that touching her will only make it worse, so I keep my hands right where the are. (It hasn't escape me that I've hurt the woman I swore that I'd never let anyone ever hurt again… yeah, I'm a fucking menace all right. Maybe I should come with a warning label.) "I'm sorry. It's – it's all I've got and – I'm sorry, but if the condo is bugged – you don't understand what Paula's done here. She's upsetting the apple cart, shaking the tree – and she's doing it even though I didn't go home with her the other night." _She's doing it even though she has absolutely no reason to._

"Did she ask you to go home with her last night?"

"No. Even if she had, I wouldn't have gone. You are _all_ that I want. I know I'm asking a lot when I ask you to believe that – but – but you're it." Yeah, like I'd fucking believe me if was sitting where she is right now… like anyone should ever fucking believe a word I have to say. This whole thing was just one big mistake. Milo should have never sent her to me – I was ready to walk away. I was ok with walking away – now – now walking away is going to fucking kill us both. Guess the Good Bard got that one wrong – it's _not_ better to have… yeah… and lost than to never have had it at all, because I just don't want to go back to my old life… but what choice do I have? And I realize that Beth hasn't said a word in a good long while here… "Ange?" I begin tentatively.

"I – I think there really are some things we need to talk about before we get any more carried away than maybe we've – I've – let things get." Her tone is cool. Detached.

"Beth – I know how it must seem – " _but Paula isn't the first woman I've kissed 'in the line of duty'_ – oh yeah, that would go over just swell… "It really isn't what it sounds like it is."

"It sounds like you did something because you felt you had to. It_ sounds _like there wasn't anything attached to it. Am I getting it so far?"

"Yeah." Only she sounds so fucking cold… and honestly, do you blame her? "She was acting like we were being watched," I add – but really, how much of a defense is that?

"So it _is_ what it sounds like. And I understand why you didn't tell me. I'm hurt, but I understand you didn't think you could, just in case someone was listening in. You couldn't – make things bad for her because she's helping you."

Only somehow when Beth says it, it sounds like I betrayed her trust for Paula's sake… "I'm sorry."

"And I accept that apology, I really do."

Yeah. I'm not really believing that… I'm not blaming her either. This was all fucking yours truly. Guess I was right when I told Cicily that guys just do dumb things sometimes. "So – now what?" I ask her. I don't want to hear the answer, but I have to. I have to know if there's anything left to salvage or if – if I just have to go back to what I used to be. (If I have to explain to my daughter just what a fucking screw up her old man _really_ is – because I'm sure Emma will have some words for me. She really does seem to like Beth and Cicily both.)

"There are some things we need to talk about, Sheldon. They're the same things I told you we needed to talk about last night. It's stuff you need to hear before really making any decisions about – everything. Anything. I should – I should have brought it all up sooner but I just got so carried away, so swept up in the moment – and I'm sorry about that. You deserve better."

"Beth – "

"I'm going to go collect the girls – we'll go home. You said you needed to get some work done. You and I can talk later, when finish up whatever it is you have to do."

(I really cannot interpret her tone here, and I really fucking hate that. I'm _sure _that if I could just look into her eyes I'd know what she was thinking, if she hates me or if she's really willing to forgive me. But I can't look into her eyes, all I have is my ears and right now they're not telling me if she's really going be there when I get back or if this is just a tactic to get away from me as quickly as possible.)

"Do you think you'll be late?" She asks me in that same impossible tone.

"Probably."

"I'll wait up."

"Beth – " her hand on my arm stops me before I can say more. I never asked Holly not to walk out on me. I never told her what it would do to me to lose her. I never told her I needed her – or that I loved her. I've never really wondered if any of that would have made a difference until right now… I become aware of Beth is leaning in – her lips brush my cheek, very, very softly and I really can't tell if it's a 'yes there's hope' or a good-bye kiss. A good-bye _forever _kiss… I wish I knew if I even need to bother coming home after work, or if I should just go check myself into the nearest watering hole. (Don't give me that look – I know I fucking buried myself here. If I go get myself good and piss-drunk, Em can take care of herself. She's fifteen. She's a big girl – just go ask her yourself if you don't fucking believe me.)

"I'm hurt," Beth tells me softly, as if she's doing that mind reading thing of hers again. "But I understand why you didn't think you could tell me last night. I understand that you needed to be able to tell me _why_ you kissed her someplace you were sure no one was listening. I understand that you did what you had to do – said what you had to say – to protect her."

"Ange – I would _never_ chose Paula over you," because that's just exactly what she's making it sound like I did do. (And ok, maybe she's right…) "I swear, I would never choose anyone over you," _if you just give me a chance here… _

"We'll talk when you get home."

Does that mean she'll really be there…?

"Walking out on you would hurt more than just living with what happened."

Oh Christ – but even with that said, there was something in her tone just then that – yeah, walking out might hurt more, but I wonder if she's really going to be able to live with me, knowing that she can never fully trust me… "I don't want to lose you, Beth. I know I screwed up – but if you let me – I _can _fix it."

"There's nothing to fix. You can't undo something once it's been done. It's over – all either of us can do is move on from right here."

"You know I meant it when I said I would do anything to really get the girl – "

"Sheldon – it's getting late. You have work to do – and I should get the girls home and get dinner going. I told you – I'll wait up. We can finish this when you get home."

"I'll try not to be late."

"You can be as late as you need to be. I'll wait for you."

And – maybe – I think – I _might _just possibly have heard something that sounded a little bit like hope just then… or maybe I just imagined it because I don't want to lose her…_ please don't let me lose her..._ I know I screwed up, but Iwill do _**anything**_ I have to, to fix this... I love her. I love them both.

---------------------------------------------------------

**"Answer"**

I will be the answer at the end of the line

I will be there for you

Why take the time in the burning of uncertainty

I will be your solid ground

I will hold the balance

If you can't look down

If it takes my whole life

I won't break, I won't bend

It will all be worth it

Worth it in the end

Because I can only tell you that I know

That I need you in my life

When the stars have all gone out you'll still be burning so bright

Cast me gently into morning

For the night has been unkind

Take me to a place so holy

That I can wash this from my mind

And break choosing not to fight

If it takes my whole life

I won't break, I won't bend

It will all be worth it

Worth it in the end

Because I can only tell you that I know

That I need you in my life

When the stars have all gone out you'll still be burning so bright

Cast me gently into morning

For the night has been unkind

_- Sarah McLachlan_

…………………………………………………………

Here area a few of songs that I missed from the list, last chapter:

**By the Corrs:**

_Long Night_

**By Staind:**

_Home_

**By Sinead O'Conner**

_Jackie_

And I referenced _I Am A Rock_ by **Simon and Garfunkle**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR!**


	43. A Question of Trust

**Chapter Forty Two:**

_A Question of Trust… _

It seems almost impossible to actually buckle down and get some work done, but when Eddas asks if I'd like to go grab some dinner with her I find that I don't want to leave the office either.

"Something the matter?" she queries, real fucking carefully – I can hear it in her tone. She knows something's up – knows it's not just something stupid and trivial, either. Fuck, can everyone read me like a God damned open book?

"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, there Boss Lady," I tell her with a forced grin. And – it's true, it's nothing she needs to worry about. It's my life. I've screwed up the one good thing I had – but that doesn't matter to Eddas. The only thing that matters to her is me getting the job done. I can do that.

"Sands – "

I wave off whatever she was going to say. "I'm a good little rat, remember? You don't have to worry about a guy like me. Whenever there's cheese around, we're real fucking dependable."

I hear a sigh – then, "I got some of the information back from that micro chip you gave me this morning. It's good."

I just nod. I knew it would be.

"You sure you don't want to grab a bite to eat – it's almost eight o'clock."

"I'm not hungry. Hey – do me a favour and close the door on your way out, would you?" it's the best way I can think of tell her to just go the fuck away and leave me alone… I like the lady, I don't really want to tell her to just piss off.

Eddas doesn't say anything – but I hear her soft retreat and the door being closed behind her and I go back to work. I've got Collins primary code cracked (that was cake, he used one of the oldest encryptions in the book), but the little fucker doubled up on me; not only did he encrypt the words, but the words are all fucking personal code and slang. However – cracking that is just a matter of getting into ol' Danny Boy's skull… not literally. It's a nice thought – I'd like to fucking crack his head open… but – I promised I'd be a good boy. I said I'd play by the rules, go by the book – give this guy up to Eddas on a fucking silver platter. Of course when I said that, I was sure I had a reason to come out of this in one piece…

And I still do. Yeah, I know, I can be a total fuckmook sometimes, but I know that even if I lose everything else, I still have Emma to take care of. She's fifteen. She's a big girl – but she still needs me and I know it, so I've still gotta play it by the book. I've got to crack this and hand it over to my boss lady – I've got to be the good little toady I've been pretending to be…

And I think the first thing I'm going to put in this god damned desk is a bottle of painkillers, because by the time I decide to call it quits, I've got a fuck of a migraine.

I don't go straight home – I don't really go anywhere. I just wander around until I come to what seems like some kind of diner. I toss my smoke to the ground and go in. I'm really not hungry, but I'm not ready to go home… I'm not ready to face what's waiting for me there – or worse, discover that nothing is waiting…

The joint I've just walked into smells like a real dive. Grease – beef – chili – yeah I'll bet there's not one thing on the menu that won't give me indigestion and/or heartburn (or put anybody's life in any danger) – which means it sounds just about perfect.

Sounds like there's less than half a dozen other patrons eating, chatting, clinking their spoons against their cups as they stir their coffee, cheap metal forks scraping against thick plastic plates as they shovel food into their big fat faces…

I'm greeted with a banal welcome by what sounds like a middle-aged woman who hates job. I ask her if she can direct me towards a seat at which point I think it dawns on the broad that the dog and cane aren't for fucking show. Well duh, lady, would a guy who could see be wearing dark glasses at night? But keep my thoughts to myself, offering up a vaguely charming little smile instead of the tongue lashing she deserves, and let myself be directed towards a booth near the door.

I keep it simple – coffee and a sandwich – everybody serves BLT's. White toast, tell the cook not to burn it, huh and heavy on the mayo. Yeah, sure soup would be great with that – yep it's a cold night all right… I hate idle chit-chat.

And I'm still not hungry even when my food arrives (the soup is surprisingly passable – tomato, home made and I even get the lots of crackers that I ask for.) I eat my soup and pick at my sandwich. I can eat even when I'm not hungry as long as I know I should – and food will help my head. So would a bullet straight through the – bridge of my nose. Fuck me, I hate this. I hate not knowing what's waiting for me back home… and I hate it that there's only one way to find out.

I pay my bill, leave a better than average tip and call for a cab.

…………………………………….

At the door, I take on last drag of my smoke and toss it to the ground before going in… I guess it's finally time to face the music.

I smell her cologne lingering in the air before I become fully aware of the soft sounds of breathing. Sleep. She's asleep on the sofa. There's that deja vous all the fuck over again…

But she's still here. At least for right now, she's _really_ still here… only I don't know if she's going to tell me they're leaving in the morning – or if they're staying forever. And there's only one way to find out, I'm just not ready, not yet. I need – I need to hang onto the fantasy for just a few more minutes, just try to pretend that there's no CIA, no Culiacan – no swapping spit with Paula Basil – no nothing. Just a man and a woman… and a dog waiting very patiently for me to undo his harness.

I kneel and set Spencer free – he pads quietly over to his chair and hops in. Then, as quietly as I can, I shrug out of my coat and hang it up by the door. The hat follows. My black cowboy hat – she knows me too fucking well. _Please just let her really be as forgiving as I think she might have sounded this afternoon…_ I don't want to lose her, not over something so stupid. (I know it's not the kiss that hurt her, it was me lying about it, misleading her. Betraying her for Paula's sake. And even if Beth does accept my apology, even if she _can_ forgive me, I wonder if she'll ever be able to trust me again. I can't say I'd blame her if she doesn't. No one should trust me – wasn't she listening all those times that I told her that? I'm not a nice guy and I knew I'd only end up hurting her, I just didn't expect it to be like this.)

I park my ass on the floor in front the sofa and just listen to her sleeping for a while. I imagine how she must look, blond hair, golden skin, wrapped in soft cotton and silk, and it really is all I can do to keep my hands to myself. I want to 'see' her in the only way I have left. I want to run my hands over every inch of her and make her feel good. I want to hold her against my body and have her say she'll never leave me… but I guess I'll have to settle for touching her shoulder and whispering her name quietly in the dark.

Under my hand, she stirs and I draw back instead of doing any of the things I want so desperately to do… if Beth ever pushed me away it would kill me and I know it.

"Hey there, Cowboy," her voice sounds warm, kinda like she's smiling, but I know she's half asleep, so – it can't mean anything. "How long have you been sitting there?" She asks – it sounds like she's sitting up.

"Not long." Truth is that I have no idea how long I was really sitting there – everything just all kind of feels dark right now. (Hell, I don't even know what time it was when I finally left the diner...)

"You really didn't think I'd be here, did you?"

"I wasn't real sure," I admit, wondering if I'm really that transparent – of if she really can read my mind.

"Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, remember?"

"Guess I'm not so sure I'm all that worthwhile."

"You are to me."

Oh Christ, she can't _mean_ that… no, no she _can't_ mean that. I must have fallen asleep sitting here listening to her breathe and this has to be a dream… There's no way it can be real… but it's a nice dream. Maybe I'll get to enjoy it a little before I wake up to whatever's really going to happen…

I almost jump when I feel the warmth of Beth's hand on my cheek. She cups my face in her palm and I remember the first time she touched me like this, how desperately I wanted to lean into her warmth, how hard I fought with myself… how stupid that really was. Life is so fucking short and filled with so much fucking pain that not taking a little pleasure when it comes along… so yeah, I'm asleep, but I lean into her a little bit anyway and just enjoy the feeling of her warmth. She brushes some of the hair from my face with her other hand and for half a second I think I can almost see her face… I take her hand into mine and bring her palm to my lips, brushing them softly against her skin. This may be the only way I ever get to touch her again… its funny, though – even in a dream, I still can't seem to say any of the things I want to say to her… I can't really see her face, but I imagine her smiling down at me…

"You're wide awake, Sheldon," her voice is – it's fucking impossible to interpret because I know what I want to hear and I can't believe I'm hearing it… I just hold onto her hand and listen to her voice and I hope she's really saying what I think I'm hearing (and that I'm really honestly awake and not just dreaming this). "I told you that I was here for you. I told you that – that I wouldn't run away at the first sign of a bump in the road. I meant that."

"This is more than a bump, Ange."

"It's really big bump. But I told you I understand why did what you did – said what you said. And you were right – the guys Marlina sent out found bugs in _every_ room. If you'd told me last night what really happened – and why – it would have been bad for Paula. She's helping you. You owe her something for that."

"I don't owe her half of what I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything."

"Please don't say that – I owe you everything."

"What happened in Mexico – I am who I am. I told you before that patching you up – putting you up – putting up with you," (I'm sure I hear just a wee bit of smile in there), "That was on the house. It was just me being me."

I press my lips to her palm one more time, "I don't deserve you." _You should just go… _

"The real question is do you want me."

Oh Christ – I want her more than anything… and I just can't believe she's making this so fucking easy... "Yes."

"Nothing worthwhile is easy, Cowboy. But as long as you want me – I'm here for you, just like I said I would be."

"I'm sorry for all this shit, Sweetheart. You shouldn't have to live like this – you shouldn't have to worry about someone listening in on you – watching every move you make – " _you shouldn't have to put up with a prick like me… _

I feel the movement of her shrug, "It doesn't bother me that much."

"Are the girls ok – I mean – having the place swept for bugs didn't freak them out too much, did it?"

"They're fine. Cicily found the whole thing kind of boring – Emma was a little rattled – but once they assured her that the likelihood of anyone reading her diary or getting into her computer was slim, she calmed down."

Yeah. But there isn't much reason to go getting into her personal shit, it's me they're after. Unless one of them really does answer back to Suarez too… "I'm still sorry you had to go through that."

"It wasn't the worst thing that happened to me today."

"I'm sorry about that too."

"I know. I understand. I really would rather just live with what happened than to live without you. I'm still a little hurt," she admits, "But – I will get over it."

"Forgiven, not forgotten?"

"It's a bruise. Bruises heal."

Yeah… bruises heal… she'd know all about that…

"It's ok," Beth tells me softly. "It really is."

"So – where do we go from here?" (And I'm real sure I'm not breathing – because I can't seem to make myself believe that it's really going to be ok. This is just too fucking easy.)

"Wherever we want to, I suppose. I'm not a – a greedy person. I'll take _whatever_ you have to give me. Whatever you want to give me. Just – as long as you honestly want me around."

"I want you. I don't know what I have to offer – but – whatever I've got, it's yours, all of it." I just can't believe she's letting me off the hook like this – there has to be a catch somewhere, a shoe hanging poised to drop on my ass… "I know you're not going to trust me again for a long time – maybe not ever – " _but I'll do anything I have to, to prove to you that you can…_

"You're wrong. I do trust you."

I open my mouth to say – what? To ask how she can she possibly still trust me after – after all this shit I've put her through? I just – I'm fucking speechless is what I am. "You said – you said I couldn't do anything to fix this –"

"You can't. You can't undo the kiss – you can't unsay the words. But_ we_ can choose to move on from right here – and I can choose to trust you."

"How?" how can she honestly expect to be able to trust me after what I put her through…?

"I did a lot of thinking while you were at work. I thought about everything you said – and everything you didn't say – I thought about all things you'd said before – "

"Ange – " just because I didn't out right lie, that doesn't excuse what I did – it doesn't change anything –

"No, let me finish," she cuts me off. "I thought about what you said to me this afternoon – about how you _did_ tell me the truth as soon as you felt you could. I'm sorry for some of what I said to you today, Sheldon. I was being unfair and I know it. That was the hurt talking, not me – I hope – I_ really_ hope – you can believe that and – and forgive me."

"_You_ have nothing to apologize for."

"Yes I do. Someone is helping you – sticking their neck out for you – and you're right to protect her. I know how I made it sound. I'm sorry. I appreciate everything she's doing for you. You're right, she has no real reason to – but she is anyway."

"Beth – "

"I'm not saying I'm not still a little bit jealous – if I ever tried to say that, it'd be a lie. She's a beautiful woman and you have a history with her – but the bottom line is that I trust _you_. I believe in **_you_**."

And – and I think this is harder than if she told me she would never be able to trust me again.

See, if Beth didn't think she could trust me, I'd work my ass off to regain her trust, to prove to her that I meant it when I said she had my loyalty. I'd do anything I had to, to get her to trust me again… But I don't have to work my ass off. She still trusts me – even after all the shit I've put her through from the get-go – she still fucking trusts me. If she were anyone else, I don't think I'd believe them.

I think I might have lost that trust, momentarily – but I don't think that moment lasted very long, and now I'm going to be knocking myself out to really deserve it. To really deserve _her_ – and it's going to be an uphill battle, because I've never felt I deserved her. I don't know how I could, angels and demons just don't mix… and she is an angel. _My_ angel. I press her hand to my lips and just savour the moment… _my angel_.

"So ah – you said you had something else you wanted to talk about?" I ask her after a bit. I'm not ready for more; I'm ready to just drop. I want to just go to sleep knowing she's safe and sound upstairs, knowing that in the morning, she's going to be in the kitchen brewing coffee and humming softly to herself… knowing that she's still here and she's really not going anywhere.

"There – there's only one big thing. I know you're tired, but I – I think – I – I need to get this out into the open. The rest of it should work itself out if – if you're still – wanting me to stick around."

"Sweetheart, I don't frighten off so easy, either, you know."

"I know. But – it's more – it's just stuff that – please don't take it the wrong way –"

"But if I could see, I'd know –?" (I'm still hanging onto her hand, by the by. I just don't want to let go of her.)

"Maybe. Maybe not. Some people figure things our right away – others never get it. The one person who should have gotten it – who should have known – either he didn't know – or he didn't want to know. But he married me anyway – and – I'm not saying I'm ever expecting – "

"Shhhhh – whatever it is, just tell me. I'm not worried about it – but I'm listening."

"You ah – you wanna join me up here?"

Oh yeah… hauling my ass up off the floor proves a little more difficult than I'd've expected, though – something about trudging all over the museum today, I think…

"I told you to take it easier on yourself this afternoon," Beth chides me very gently as I settle in next to her.

"Lesson learned – but it was worth it," I reply. And – I'm not really expecting much, but when I feel her lean over into me, I put my arms around her and pull her close and my Christ it just feels _so _good to hold her again. I brush my lips up against the top of her head, "I am sorry, Beth, for everything."

"I know. I know you did what you had to do – and I know you did it for a good reason."

That doesn't really excuse the lie – but – "So – what's on your mind?"

"Something that isn't real easy for me to talk about. It's – it's like my gut feelings – it's a part of who I am – and it's part of what Neal found so much displeasure in. And I really don't know why – I mean I know why – but I never tried to hide it from him. I never tried to hide anything from him – I tried to hide it from Alan – but – "

"I know I haven't given you much reason to have a whole lot of faith in me – but I couldn't hurt you like that." _Just every other way… _"I could never hit you."

"I know. And I know I've been wrong about stuff before – I never saw Neal hurting me. I did kind of see Alan sleeping around – but – I'm pretty good at ignoring what's right in front of me when I don't want to see it. And I really had to get away from my father's funeral, it was just too much, so I guess it wouldn't have mattered anyway, I was bound to find out. But – I still know you'd never hurt me – not like Neal. I know – I just_ know_," she rests her head against my chest – and I really do realize how much she trusts me. It amazes the shit right out of me.

I run my fingers through her hair and just hold her for a bit before asking what is it that she's having such a hard time talking about. (And I still wish she'd just let me take care of that fuckmook husband of hers my way…)

I feel Beth tilting her head up a little, so that she's looking at my face, "After – after they let me out of the hospital – you know a seventy two hour psych eval after I did that number on my wrists – the doctors suggested that what I really needed was to just get away from 'it all'. I didn't have anywhere to go but back to Fayetteville. Glenna's always been Glenna and Corey – I don't know. I just didn't think I could bounce in on him. Alabama's always been home in my head – in my heart. So I went back – and there was Neal. He'd been my best friend for so long when we were children. When I forgot my lunch – when there wasn't enough to go around, so I went without so Corey and Glenna could have something – he'd give me half his sandwich. He knew me. He knew about Daniel. He didn't know about my father – about the way he hit me – but – I don't know, maybe he did but we never talked about it. But – the point is that he_ knew_ me. And I was in too much pain to try and hide anything anyway – he knew all about what he was getting involved with – and – and he still – tried to change me and when he couldn't change me he hit me, as if that could somehow solve the problem – as if that could turn me into what he wanted me to be –" she's crying…

"Shhhh, you know what I think of your husband." _You know I could fix it… _

"Yeah. But – Neal_ knew_ me, Sheldon. I always understood why there were things about me Alan didn't want to deal with – things I tried to pretend didn't matter because – because I was stupid, I thought I was in love. I really can pick em."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"I didn't mean – "

"I'm teasing, Sweetheart. I know I'm no peach."

Beth shifts a little – and for a second I'm not real sure – and then I feel her lips on mine and oh my Christ, what a kiss… it's not just that I love her kisses, it's that this one is really fucking something else… only when I cup her face in my hands, I can still feel those tears… I know they're because of someone else but… it still hurts… but …. "Keep that up and I'm gonna need a cold shower before I can get any sleep," I manage to finally find my voice.

"I just – I want you to know who I am. I don't want you to be surprised – or to wake up one morning and – and not like what you find next to you. I'm not afraid of you hitting me – but I am afraid of – of disappointing you."

"Sweetheart – I like you just the way you are. You get to me in ways no one else _ever_ has. You're who I want. Who I_ need_." _Who I love…_

"It's just that after everything I went through with Neal – I can take on whatever role you want me to fill in your life without changing who I am – but I just can't change who I am, not even for you. I just need you to know that."

"I don't want you to change," I tell her again. "And – I don't want you to just take what I dish up, either. You deserve the world - "

"Alan was an atheist," she tells me then, of the blue; but I'm almost used to that particular little quirk of hers. "I tried to bring up a couple of things with him – just in a general 'what do you think of X' kind of way. He went off on me for it. So I didn't bring it up again. I put everything important to me inside this little box and just kept it there like I was ashamed of who I really was. Sometimes I think that's why I – why I lost it as completely as I did, because I wasn't true to myself."

And – I really don't know what to say, so I just hold her. I think I kind of know where this is going – but with Beth it's a little hard to tell sometimes. "So what about Neal?" I ask.

"Neal is a hard core Southern Baptist, Hellfire and brimstone – holier-than-thou righteousness – at least when he's not at the bar getting drunk. But that's ok, you see, somehow that's ok. Somehow the women in that family learn to just look the other way when the men curse and smoke and drink – learn to look the other way when the men hit them. Somehow they think that's ok – just like – just like it was ok for my father to use his belt to – to put me on the straight and narrow. But it never worked – it didn't work for Da and it didn't work for Neal. The more he hit me – the more I'd hurt – the more I just knew I could never be this person he wanted me to be. I never thought I'd ever leave him, I had nowhere to go – not until he hit Cicily that time – but – but he couldn't change _me_. He could hurt me – but he couldn't make the dreams go away, he couldn't stop me from having those gut feelings – and he hated it when they were right. I tried to not say anything – but – sometimes the things I'd have feelings about were just so important, I had to say something, to help someone. And – and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't stop me, all he could do was – hit me."

"I'll never ask you to change. I doubt very much that I'll ever believe in whatever it is you do – but I'm not a hard core anything," I tell her softly.

"I just – I want you to know – to really understand – that Cicily hasn't been to church since we left Alabama – and she doesn't seem to remember it. She's never been to a synagogue or a temple or a mosque and she's not going to, either, not until she's old enough to understand and only if it's something she wants to do."

Yeah, I kinda figured that this was where things were headed when she brought up out of the blue that Alan was an atheist. I remember a couple of odd comments Beth's made – stuff I just filed away for later. And – I guess it's 'later.' "Ange, my mother dragged me to every kind Protestant church known to man when I was a kid. I think you can figure out for yourself that it didn't exactly 'take.' Just – I mean, I'm not going to find a goat tied up in our bedroom, am I?" and hopefully…

She just laughs, "Not unless I ever talk you into moving into the country and then the goat will be in a pen, for milk."

I make a face. I've had goat's milk, thank you – it is fucking gross. But at least she knows I was teasing her – and that means she has a sense of humour about the whole thing. I can deal with just about anything as long as I can poke a little fun at it once in a while. (Oh come on, you hadn't figured that out by now? Just look at my relationship with Milo.)

"I practically raised Cicily on goat's milk," she tells me.

"Good – she can have my share."

Beth just giggles a little more, before trying to get serious again (it seems like a valiant attempt, but I can tell she's still smiling, and that suits me just fine. I like it when she smiles.) "I just – I don't want there to be any surprises for you, that's all."

"Look – you're not going to shove anything down my throat, right?"

"Never. What I said before is true – a person's relationship with – whatever they call Deity – that's personal. I'll never judge you or – sway you – or do anything but just take you as you are."

Will you ever love me, I wonder… but I just run my fingers over her cheeks, enjoying the little kisses she places on them when they glide over her lips… "Sweetheart, if this is your big worry, than you've got nothing to worry about."

"It's just that – I'm raising Cicily with – certain beliefs – and – I'm not asking you to change anything you do – just to respect that – that we might do things a little differently."

"I can dig it. And I'm pretty sure Em can too. Holly was a Buddhist – and I'm getting the feeling that she probably exposed our daughter to – " _to a fucking nudist_, "To all sorts of shit. So – if there's something in particular I need a heads up about – just – tell me. "

"I – I'm _really not_ trying to assume _any_thing – but – you end up with four fewer shopping days til the big winter holiday, and – I don't know what your family traditions were all about, but to Cicily it's a real big deal. She still believes in Santa Clause, it's just – he visits our house a little early, that's all. That – and maybe I've over done things just a little because I – I hauled her out onto the road with me, upsetting her whole existence, so I tried to do what I could to bring a little stability into her life. Even if it doesn't seem like it from an outside point of view."

"It took guts to leave that creep, Ange – you did the right thing there."

"It wasn't guts – it was fear. Anger. I couldn't let him hurt her."

"You're one of the bravest women I think I've ever known," I bring her lips up to mine for another one of those kisses…

In the hall the clock chimes:_ one… two… three… _shit. As much as I'm enjoying this, I pull back from her. "It's late, Sweetheart, you should probably go to bed."

"Or – you could come with me," Beth's voice is barely a whisper. "Cicily went to sleep in Emma's room tonight."

I'm not sure, but I think I may have forgotten how to breathe, because after the shit I pulled today, if we had a dog house, I'd expect to be sleeping there for at least a week while Spencer got my bed. I'm real grateful to still be on the sofa here…

"I'm not expecting anything, I know you're tired. But I would really, _really_ like to sleep next to you tonight, Sheldon. If – if you're interested – "

Christ on a crutch, she really does not get how much I want her, does she? "Give me a second to – you know teeth and stuff – but ah – I would love to sleep next to you." _I would love to make love to every inch of you… _

"Why don't you bring your stuff upstairs – ? The bathroom's big enough –"

Ok, that sounds like an invitation to move up there with her permanently but I'm not ready to assume anything… "You – really mean that?"

"I guess – I should have said that I'd really like it if you stopped sleeping on the sofa all together. I really – I just need for you to be next to me at night. Every night."

I think I've completely stopped breathing here… but… "I'd like that – a lot. But – there's something I need to know. If I ask you a question, will you promise to tell me the truth, no matter what the truth really is?"

"Of course."

(Yeah, she sounds as shaky as I fucking feel right now – but I've got to know… call me a stupid fuckmook, but I've _got_ to know.)

"How bad is it – really? What Guevara did to me – "

"Oh Sheldon – don't go there. You're a handsome, handsome man – "

"What do I really look like, Ange?" I press her. I_ **have**_ to know.

I listen – she takes a breath and lets it out again – and I'm seriously starting to tap dance on razor blades because… because I know it's bad. I've always known it was bad, but I've got to know how she can fucking look at me, knowing what's behind my glasses – what's _not_ there. How can she stomach the sight of me? How can she _kiss _me…? (And believe me, it's just as mind boggling how Paula could do it, but – but I don't really care about that. She's not my angel – she's not the woman who held me in the dark, the woman who sat with me in a cool tub to bring down my fever – she's not – she's not who I want. She doesn't get to me – she doesn't make me feel normal. _Happy_. I don't need to know how she could look at me without getting sick – I need to know how Beth does it.)

"Please – " I ask again.

"All right."

And I sit absolutely still when I realize what she's about to do… "Beth – the girls – "

"Are sound asleep," she tells me, sliding the glasses from my face. She sets them on the coffee table and – my stomach does flip flops.

I swallow hard – I really don't want to heave-ho right onto her feet.

"Rule number one, Cowboy." She's smiling when she says it – but – yeah. I'm feeling real fucking queasy over here and it's honestly all I can do to not flinch away when I feel her hands on my face...

With warm and gentle, she cups my cheeks and draws me forward and I feel the most amazingly feather soft kiss on each cheek, and then – then I feel her lips – and they're pressed gently up to that spot right between the – yeah. Right on the bridge of my nose. I can't breathe, I can't even fucking move… I'm sure the room is dark, but even in the dark, she has to be able to see something – some of what I look like… Beth's fingers move over my cheeks and over my brow – then I feel the light touch of her fingertips moving around slowly towards my temples and back down to my cheeks and I realize that she's touching the very edge of – of those fucking gaping holes and my stomach jumps – but nothing comes up. (Small miracle if you think about what I had for dinner…) Very slowly and very, very gently, she traces the outline of my empty eye sockets, all the way around. She's so close, I can feel the warmth of her breath on my face... "The rest is just the way it was before," Beth assures me in a soft, sweet tone; her hands are still on my cheeks, still holding me... still caressing my face. Then she leans in and kisses me on the mouth. It's a sweet, tender kiss I and I respond in kind – barely. I'm having a real hard time here… "Neal never forced himself on me, Cowboy," she tells me, out of the blue, in that same sweet tone. (And that's two for two tonight for out of the blue comments – but at least this time she's coming at me out of the blue with something that's been weighing pretty heavily on my mind since – since I first started to think that just maybe I might possibly have the tiniest bit of a chance with this woman...)

"Anybody else ever force themselves on you?" I ask. I'm not sure what I'll do if she says yes.

"I don't have any weird psychological triggers where sex is concerned, I only get jumpy about being grabbed."

"You know I'm sorry about that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she runs her hand across my cheek. "I – I didn't really think you'd hurt me – but – I couldn't help the way I reacted. Neal used to grab me and – well, you know the rest."

"I'm sorry. You really were nothing but kind to my sorry ass – and I was nothing but a pain in yours."

She chuckles, just a little, kissing my lips, drawing a kiss from me. "I knew you were hurting, Shel, and not just from the physical wounds. Even before I sort of pieced it together – you really did talk up a storm when you were fevered. But even before that, I mean – I didn't really have to be psychic to know that something really awful had happened to you that day. You had no reason to trust me or anybody else."

"I just don't ever want to do something and have you think of him. I know I can be a little – aggressive –but I don't ever want to hurt you. I don't ever want toscare you."

"Not gonna happen. If nothing else – I gotta just say this and I hope it doesn't bother you, but Neal was kind of a one trick pony in the bedroom. I think I got more variety out of Mr. Straight Laced – Alan. And – I mean that's ok – if that happens to be your thing – one trick done well isn't such a bad thing –"

"No one's _ever_ called me a one trick pony before," I assure her. And I am absolutely **_not_** blushing, thank you.

Beth just chuckles some more and draws me into another one of those kisses of hers… "Come on, Cowboy – it's late. We should get some sleep."

"Sleep is optional," I murmur in return, pulling her back into that kiss…

…………………………..

Fragile  
Like a baby in your arms  
Be gentle with me  
I'd never willingly  
Do you harm

Apologies  
Are all you ever seem to get from me  
But just like a child  
You make me smile  
When you care for me  
And you know...

It's a question of lust  
It's a question of trust  
It's a question of not letting  
What we've built up  
Crumble to dust  
It is all of these things and more  
That keep us together

Independence  
Is still important for us though (we realize)  
It's easy to make  
The stupid mistake  
Of letting go (do you know what I mean)

My weaknesses  
You know each and every one (it frightens me)  
But I need to drink  
More than you seem to think  
Before I'm anyone's  
And you know...

It's a question of lust  
It's a question of trust  
It's a question of not letting  
What we've built up  
Crumble to dust  
It is all of these things and more  
That keep us together

Kiss me goodbye  
When I'm on my own  
But you know that I'd  
Rather be home

It's a question of lust  
It's a question of trust  
It's a question of not letting  
What we've built up  
Crumble to dust  
It is all of these things and more  
That keep us together

- Depeche Mode -

(the name of the tune is "Question of Lust")

………………………………………….

And just as a point of useless personal trivia, that was the song my husband and I had played as our 'first dance as a couple song' at our wedding reception. And (this honestly just occurred to me) entirely inadvertently, the first dance ended up being that 1000 miles song that played at the beginning of _Benny and Joon_, (you know, another Depp film). It wasn't intentional or anything, the DJ had no idea that everyone, including the bride, would screw the formalities and rush for the dance floor for that one, before the "official" first dance of the evening… ;)


	44. In the Arms of an Angel

I just want to give a quick thanks to my wonderful reviewers! I hope everyone had a marvelous holiday season.

And here it is, the beginning of the end… just a few more chapters to go after this one…

…………………

**Chapter Forty Three:**

_In the Arms of an Angel_

In that hazy place between sleep and wakefulness I roll over – and discover that the other half of the bed is occupied by a warm, wonderful woman – the same warm wonderful woman who fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

It wasn't a dream.

She's _really_ still here.

This is real.

And she's still fast asleep.

I curl myself around her, adjusting the sheets so there's nothing between her flesh and mine. She is so warm – and her body is just this perfect fit against me – my Christ, I don't think I've ever felt this happy. I'm almost afraid to let myself really enjoy it because nothing good_ ever_ lasts…

In her sleep, Beth responds to my touch by pulling closer to me, sighing very softly as she moves – but I can tell by her breathing that she really is still asleep, so I'm careful not to wake her as I slide my arm under hers, just holding her close. She twines her fingers into mine – and I really don't think I'm breathing because my Christ – this is really real.

I brush my lips against her shoulder and lay my head next to hers, listening to her breathe and drinking in the scent of that vanilla and flowers that's still lingering in her hair from the last time she showered. This really is worth everything. _She's_ worth everything. "_Je t'aime, mon ange,_" my voice is barely a whisper because I don't want to wake her – I don't want her to hear – but I still need to say it, just once out loud, just to hear what it sounds like. Je t'aime, mon ange.

And just in case you're a little fuzzy on it, yes we did. I didn't hold back anything from her. I'm usually pretty good at what I do, but last night was – was more honestly wholehearted than I've given – or gotten – in a long, long time… However, being a gentleman (yes, I really can be one of those) I won't go into serious detail other than to say I really don't think I'm ever going to get bored. See, I found out that my little angel isn't quite so angelic after all, but for the right woman I'm not sure I mind laying back, shutting up and just enjoying the things she wants to do to me… as long as she doesn't mind trading places (and if all the squirming and trying real hard to be real quiet on her end was any indication, I don't think she minded letting me take the lead. I'm not real used to being on 'the bottom', if you get the ol' drift there... and truth is that after a while it was hard to figure who was directing the action, it all just happened... And just for the record, she's a nurse and I'm not stupid – I like Johnny just where he is and disease free. Consider that your public service announcement, kiddies.)

Beth stirs slightly in my arms, "Morning, Cowboy."

I give her shoulder another little kiss, "Morning, Sweetheart. I don't suppose you can see the clock from where you are?" I really have no idea where the clock even is, but I'm kinda curious as to just how much sleep we really got… or didn't get. I don't feel tired. I just feel good. (And yeah, it really does scare me to feel like this. I remember being happy for most of that summer on the lake, with Holly. I remember making all kinds of crazy plans in my head, plans that involved me and her a life together – but I guess even then I knew it wouldn't really last. I must have know, right? That has to be why I never told her any of the things I was planning… it was all just a game of pretend in my head…)

Beth rolls over so that she's facing me (and that still makes my stomach churn just a little – I kinda fell asleep with my face uncovered here – but she doesn't even flinch.) "I can see it now," she tells me of the clock.

"Do I even want to know?"

"Well, there's good news and bad news," she's grinning, I can hear it in her voice.

I reach over for my smokes – I seem to remember – yep right about where I thought hey were… "And the good news would be?" I inquire.

"We didn't sleep the day away."

"And the bad news?"

"I don't think we've been asleep for more than a couple of hours – not that I really mind," Beth strokes my cheek lightly with her fingertips.

I just smile at her – I don't know how she can look at me – be this close to me – but she can. She's here. This is real. _She's_ real. She takes the cigarettes out of my hand and leans in to kiss me. I don't know how I got from where I was to here – but Christ, I never want to go back. I pull Beth on top of me so I can wrap my arms completely around her, nicotine completely forgotten.

"Are you trying to start something?" Beth wants to know.

"And if I am?"

She just giggles and kisses me harder – I can feel her putting the pack back on the nightstand… "Well I suppose we both need a shower anyway, Cowboy. No harm in getting a little dirtier first…" and yeah, she's already started nibbling at that soft spot right under my chin – don't ask me why, but that drives me absolutely nuts (in the best possible way.)

"I told you I wasn't an angel."

"You're wrong – you are an angel. You're _my_ angel," _And I love you…_

…………………………………………………….

"So what's on the agenda for today?" Beth asks as we both step out of the shower – hey, it's only polite to conserve water, right?

"I should try to put in at least a couple of hours at the office. I didn't get done as muchdone last night. Eddas is hauling me into court on Friday – and I'm a little twitchy about that,even with what Paula handed me."

"It's going to be ok."

"One of those gut feelings of yours?" I ask – sounds like she's headed back to the bedroom. I follow.

"It just doesn't make sense that your boss is screwing you over, Shel. Look at what she's done already – I'd be real surprised if she isn't just what she seems to be."

"Yeah. Me too." And I think I'm finally starting to trust my instincts again. I mean – I kept wanting to believe that Beth was honestly just what she seemed to be and she's done a whole lot more than just not hurt me. I know I can trust Milo – and I think it's about more than me and him and six guys beating the crap out of him. I think it's about me and him and who the Hell else is going to be able to understand guys like us but guys like us. I even know that I could probably have trusted Marcus – I just couldn't let myself do it under the circumstances. And I guess that's just the way it works sometimes.

"Penny for your thoughts, Cowboy."

"Hmmm – oh – nothing," I park my ass on the bed and light up a couple of cigarettes – not our first nicotine of the day, but until I get some coffee into me… Beth tosses something onto the bed next to me. Jeans. Underwear follows – socks. Shirt – it's not one of my t-shirt – feels like a turtleneck. Guess she's taking that whole going into the office thing into account. "I've – kinda been thinking about something, though," I say – I listen to her get dressed – then she takes her cigarette from me.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." I set my smoke carefully into the ashtray and get dressed myself. "I've – I've kinda been thinking about that whole one day at a time thing we were talking about the other day."

"And – ?"

"And I just don't think it's going to work out."

"Oh. Ok." She stops doing whatever it is she was specifically doing (all I can tell from where I'm stuck, here in the dark, is that fabric was rustling – maybe tucking in her blouse? That means she's probably wearing jeans…) "Can – I at least ask why?" Beth says after a moment of silence.

"Because one day at a time means I have to worry about tomorrow and the next day and the next day and I don't like it."

"Sheldon – "

I shake my head at her, "My turn – you just listen this time. I want you. I want you today. I want you tomorrow. And I want you the day after that and the day after that and the day after that. There aren't any guarantees in – well in anything – but – I want you to know that when I say I want you, _that's_ what I mean. Not just today, but - well, every day. Oh yeah – and I _hate_ it that you keep saying how you're not assuming anything – or that you don't expect anything. I want you to assume that I'm not going to sleep with anybody else, and I want you to expect shit out of me. I don't have much to give – I couldn't even manage to keep that promise about not lying to you for – what, not even a couple of days? But you've got my loyalty – and not out of any kind of sense of _obligation_," yeah, that really does sound like a bad word the way I say it… "You've got my loyalty because I want to give it to you – you've got _me,_ Beth. Today, tomorrow, the next day and the next day and the next day. I know that not much – to but it's the best I've got to offer. It's all I've got."

"I really don't want a lot, Sheldon – but what you're saying – it sounds like you're offering up a whole lot more than 'not much.'"

"I just wanna know that when I come home you'll be here – not like dinner has to be on the table at five sharp or I'm going to freak out on you and throw a fit – just that – you'll be here. You can burn the pibil or make coffee that tastes like shampoo – "

She giggles in a way that suggests she gets the reference. (Tom Lehrer again, there kiddies. And why am I just not real surprised that my angel knows his stuff…?)

"And I'm not trying to tell you that I don't want you can't go out and – and do the things that make you happy," I add – I'm nothing like that creep she married. I'm bigger and I'm badder but I'd never try to control her like that. Angels don't belong in cages. "It's just that when you do go out – to meet a friend or have a drink or whatever – I want to know that you'll be back. I want to know that you'll always come home to me."

"I really think I could live with that."

"Good." Because I don't know what I would have done if she'd said she couldn't… "So um – not exactly to change the subject, but – I've got a question for you."

"Hmmm?"

"Just ah – what exactly should I be prepared for with this winter holiday of yours?" Because by my reckoning, it's just around the corner and even if it isn't my thing, Cicily is seven; I am not about to be the fuckmook who screws up her day.

"It'll probably look – oh, I'm sorry – "

I shake my head at her, "No sweat, Darlin.'"

"I – forgot – I – oh – Shel I'm sorry – that probably didn't sound too good either – I'm sorry – "

"Hey – if you forget it means you don't think of me as some kind of crip – or a freak. So – by all means, forget as often as you can." I tell her just as I'm slipping the glasses into place. (Yeah, I really have been sitting her 'naked' this whole time… and exactly how Beth can forget that I don't have eyes when I'm sitting right here with these two fucking gaping holes where eyes should be, I just don't know.)

"Because I don't think of you in terms of – of that. You're just you."

"Oh swell," I smirk – and – reach – and she steps right into my arms… I slide my hands down a little towards her hips. Feels like I was right about those jeans – and hmmm… I think I like what they do for her butt… "So – that holiday thing?" I ask, giving her posterior a little squeeze.

She chuckles and squeezes me back while continuing: "Well we have a tree – it isn't always a pine tree because those were always a little hard to find in Culiacan – sometimes it was just a tree in my garden. We'd decorate it and light candles and set out some stockings – pretty much all the 'usual' stuff."

"The usual stuff, huh?" I'm exploring the rest of her a little – politely, mind you. Her blouse is silk – sleeves are rolled up – and it feels like she's got it unbuttoned to just about the right spot… damn, I wish I could see her…

"It's teal," she tells me softly. "Bleu jeans – new ones, so they're still good and dark."

I smile. I'm glad she bought herself something besides a coat and hat when she and Emma went shopping… hopefully she'll put those earrings in today too… "Why don't you wear jewelry?"

"Neal."

Yeah. I thought so. "So um – can I ask you for another favour?"

"You can have all the favours you want, Cowboy."

God, I don't know what I did to deserve her – to deserve this. Any of this… but, "I um – I think you've probably spent more time with my daughter than I have the past week – "

"She knows you were working."

"Yeah – well – I just – I'm not real good with any of this holiday stuff. I mean really – who have I ever had around me who cared one way or the other? And according to you I have four fewer days for shopping – "

"That's just what Cicily and I do. I'm not asking you to – do anything special for us. You and Emma should just – do whatever you were planning to do for Christmas."

"Won't that be a little confusing – I mean for Cicily?"

"We were living in a mostly Catholic neighbourhood. Cicily's used to the idea that different people have different holidays."

"I guess I just figured – one day of it was good. And – I suppose I should check in with Em to see how she feels, but she's too old for the whole Jolly Old Elf thing so I don't see what difference it would make whether we did the whole holiday thing on the twenty fifth or whenever you want to do your thing – "

"Weren't you listening when I said I'd never force anything that I do on you? I totally respect whatever holiday traditions you've got – whatever's important to Emma. All I'm asking for is some place to hang my daughter's stocking and maybe a little tree – just because it's important to her. It doesn't have to be big or fancy, she understands we're kind of in transition here – but – "

"Call me Scrooge, but one day is fucking enough, ok?" I don't quite mean to snap at her – but if she's religious and I'm not, I just see no reason to celebrate _twice_; I don't even want to celebrate _once_. (And I suppose I _should _talk to Emma before making any real plans here, because there's absolutely no telling what she and her mother did or didn't do this time of year – but she's old enough to get that a day is a day is a day and I really fricking doubt she's got any strong religious attachments to December twenty fifth.)

"I'm sorry," Beth says, quietly. "I'm not trying to – push it one way or the other. I just don't want you doing anything you don't want to do – anything you wouldn't normally do. Just let us do our thing."

"I know you're not trying to push – and I'm sorry I snapped at you, I'm just not into the whole holiday thing, ok. I sorta lost my – excitement over it when I figured out that – that it was all just one great big scam, just a way to get people to go out and spend money they didn't have to begin with, so someone else could get rich." Ho-ho-humbug, that's me.

"I guess I can understand that."

But I can tell by her tone that she really doesn't. "Look, Ange, the last thing I want is for Cicily not to have the kind of – whatever – she's used to. I can live with a tree and decorations and stockings and – and whatever else you ask me to deal with. Just – try to bear in mind that if it was up to me – I'd just – I don't know – sit in my underwear and watch the Food Network or something. Listen to it, I guess." Because of course, I'm not really ever going to watch anything ever again…

Beth pulls me closer – my Christ, I just took her head off and here she is laying her head against my chest with her arms wrapped around my waist, holding me… how is this possible…?

"I guess I was so concerned with making you uncomfortable because we were celebrating something different – it didn't occur to me that we might make you a little uncomfortable by celebrating at all."

"Look at my life, Sweetheart," I tell her softly, holding her – loving the way she feels against me. Loving _her_. "There really hasn't been much room for things like Christmas dinner and stockings hung up by the fire place."

"But it wasn't an accident."

I just shrug – what can I say? I made my choices, I made them consciously. Some of it just sort of happened – but for the most part I pretty much knew what I was getting myself into…

Beth shifts a little so that she's looking up at my face, "Come on, Cowboy, let's go get some coffee."

"I definitely like the way you think," I kiss the top of her head – and it occurs to me that there has been absolutely none of that morning after weirdness I've always dreaded (and avoided when at all costs…)

And I realize that I may have spoken too soon, as soon as we reach the bottom of the stairs and discover that the girls are awake (watching television in the living room.) And here we come, me and Beth down the stairs together, still damp from that shower… and while Cicily may not have a clue (I hope), my little Muffin most certainly has to know what the skivvy is… fuck. Well, ok, yeah, exactly… but – ok, she's fifteen. She understands the birds and the bees… but… I'm her father. I'd rather she wasn't privy to my sex life. (Ok, I know I'm kidding myself on that one, but let a guy have his delusions. I'm still new to this whole parent thing, if you'll remember.)

"Coffee's on," Emma tells us, as Cicily comes bounding over to say good morning.

"Emma made me breakfast!" the younger girl tells me.

"Good thing your mother's a nurse," I smirk in the general direction of my darling offspring. Although I can't see it, I'm sure she's giving me a look – probably a look that looks very much like one of my looks…

"I found some instant oatmeal," Emma informs me in a very dry tone.

"Be still my beating heart, she boiled water," I tease.

"We used the microwave," says Cicily, "Emma showed me how it worked!"

Well it seems as if the girls aren't half as weirded out by me and Beth sleeping together as we are to know they've realized we slept together. (She hasn't said anything, but I can tell Beth is just as weirded out as I am by it. She's being decidedly quiet over there…)

"Why don't you go upstairs and put some cloths on," Beth says to her daughter – yep, her tone is definitely that of a woman a wee bit uncomfortable with the current situation…

I feel more than hear Cicily's sigh, "Ok. Then can I finish my show?"

And even from several feet away, I hear her mother's sigh. I keep getting the feeling that Beth isn't exactly thrilled with all this technology at our fingertips… "I suppose," but she gives in anyway.

Cicily scampers off…

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm on the hot seat?" Em queries.

"I'll get the coffee," Beth tells me quietly – at which point I realize she engineered this – she wants me to talk to Em before we talk to Cicily…

"No hot seat, kiddo," I take a seat on the sofa – Emma's on the floor by the by. She and Cicily were both sitting there – with Spencer, who pads over to me now that I'm seated. I give his ears a scratch – there's this spot just – oh never mind. I'm not turning into an animal lover on you – I just figure he puts up with enough of my shit the least I can do is scratch his ears once in a while.

"I let him out," Em tells me. "He came down about an hour ago."

Yeah that would be about when… I clear my throat. "Thanks." Ok… now what? I light up a cigarette… now where the fuck is that ashtray… I hear Emma scoot it over to me. "Gracias," I give her a passable Spanish accent. "Look – about last night – "

Emma just laughs, "Sorry – it's just the way you said that – "

I can't help it – I laugh too because she's right, that really did come out pretty badly.

"Shelly, I'm more than ok with you and Beth being together. Especially if it means you'll stop fighting."

"We haven't been fighting." Ok, I guess that sounded a little defensive…

"Maybe it's not fighting – but the tension around here's been thick enough to cut with a knife. Remember what I said about Mom and Jim – well – the way you two've been since you got back – it's got Cicily more than just kind of worried. She really likes you, you know – even if I can't seem to figure out why," she adds – I know she's teasing. And I recognize that defense mechanism for what it is.

"Are you ok with that – with the way Cicily likes me?" I ask her. Christ, this isn't quite the conversation I wanted to have – then again, I don't really know _what_ conversation I wanted to have…

"Yeah, I'm ok with it. I'm just not going to be ok if you – if you let her think she's this big important part of your life and then – just – vanish on her. She's only seven and – it doesn't seem like there's been a whole lot of stability going on there. Nothing against Beth," Em adds quickly. "It's just – I know what it's like to not have a father – and how important it can be to – to suddenly have a guy around who you think is going to be one."

Yeah…

"Shelly – "

I just shake my head. "I know I wasn't there."

"No. But – I get it, I understand why. And you're here now, right?"

"Yeah – I'm here now."

And – we sit in some pretty fucking uncomfortable silence for a while more…

"So – ?" Emma asks me at last.

"So. I really need that cup of coffee."

"So go get it," Emma's tone is just mildly scathing, although I'm pretty sure she's smiling.

"You dressed?"

"As in, in street cloths? Yeah, I threw on a pair of jeans and an old flannel – "

Oh what a picture that paints in my head... I wonder if my little girl will ever have a date for prom… "Get your shoes and coat – I seem to remember walking past a coffee shop the other day," you know, when I was getting lost in the snow.

"Why?"

"Your old man wants to buy you a cup of coffee, ok?"

"There's coffee here, Shelly."

"Yeah – but you made it," I smirk at her.

Emma just laughs.

Christ we are too much alike.

We decide leave Spencer at home where it's warm – the coffee shop is only a couple of blocks and Em doesn't mind being my eyes. I give Beth a kiss good bye and I promise we won't be long.

"Take your time – there's plenty that Cicily and I can talk about while you two're out," Beth assures me.

And yeah, I'm sure there is lots they need to talk about, all right…

… "So what's going on?" Emma asks me after we've gotten our coffee and settled into a fairly quiet corner of the little coffee shop/bakery.

"Remember you asked me before how I felt about Beth?"

"Yeah." (I think she's smiling… I hope.)

"I think – I think – this is as close to permanent as I'm willing to lay odds on. I – don't know if Beth mentioned to you that I'd asked her to start looking at houses before I left – "

"She didn't – but – that means we're staying in D.C.?"

"Not too many people are gonna hire a guy like me, Kiddo. I've got a pretty swell gig going with the DOJ – and even if I didn't, it'll take a while for this all to really settle down, so no matter what I'm stuck here for a while."

"But it _will_ settle down, right?"

"Yeah. It will settle down. I'm ah – I'm sorry about last night – the whole getting swept for bug thing." I take a swig of my coffee. My plain ol' normal, ordinary, every day coffee. Black, two sugars. Just a cupa joe… And why am I pointing this out? Because Emma over there's got this no fat, extra foam, steamy, frothy, shot of something or another, five bucks later cup of – I don't know can you even still call it coffee after all that? Christ on a crutch, what happened to regular old coffee...

"Yeah. I was a little freaked out by that whole surveillance thing. These five guys came in and they were waving wands and shit – stuff," she corrects herself for my sake, "All over everything. One of 'em even went digging through every drawer in my room, even the ones that aren't really mine. They found – stuff. You know, microphones and stuff." Em tells me. "I didn't even think they could do that – I mean not legally anyway. Doesn't whoever bugged the place need a warrant or something?"

"This is the CIA, Em. They don't need a warrant under the circumstances."

"But – "

"I'm one of theirs and they're investigating me for treason – amongst other things. Half the bugs Eddas' crew found were probably planted by the FBI – Hell at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if my pals down at NSA weren't in on the action." I drink my plain ol' Colombian grown coffee… and notice that Emma's gone kinda quiet over there. "It's going to be ok," I tell her, with just a little more confidence than I think I'm really feeling. It's not that I doubt Eddas at this point, it's that as close as it seems like I am to the grand finale, I know I've still got one full act to go, one really big song and dance number, before the final curtain falls.

"You_ promise_ it's going to be ok?"

(And I swear just then she sounds more like Cicily than my little pain.)

"I promise," I reach across the table for Emma's hand – and it really never ceases to amaze me when someone puts their hand in mine…

Emma holds on tight: "You know I'd rather have you tell me it's not going to be ok than lie to me, Shelly."

"Em – it's going to be ok. I wouldn't exactly call it a get out of jail 'free' card that I've got – but I've got a way out of jail."

"Ok." She gives my hand another squeeze before going back to that non fat whatever it is.

"So um – here's a question for you," I really hate to switch gears on her like this – but… "What ah – what did you and your mother do this time of year?"

"You mean for Christmas?"

"Yeah."

"The usual – tree, stockings, blinking lights – tofu with cranberry sauce."

I just shake my head, "Holly and her tofu." And the sad thing is that I do better with that stuff than she ever did, and I don't even like the shit.

Emma laughs, "Yeah. It was pretty gross. Most of the time we ended up scrapping it and ordering in a vegetarian pizza or going out for Chinese – but Mom always had to give cooking Christmas dinner 'one more try' no matter how much I reminded her what had happened the year before. Why?"

"Beth – hmm – she and Cicily – "

"I picked up on that, Shel."

"You did?"

"Cicily kinda said a few things – then got all shy and I had to coax it out of her that they do the solstice instead of Christmas."

"You ok with that – ?" I mean, she _sounds_ ok with it… and Holly was – well, Holly…

"Mom basically raised me to believe in Something but she never seemed to have a name for the Something, just that It was out there and He/She/It cared. She got a little less Buddhist and a little more Agnostic the last few years, but mostly she was just kind of live and let live – except when she was in one of her save the planet moods, then all those big corporations needed to all go belly up – and while she was on the subject we needed to elect a woman as president. I probably shouldn't tell you about the six months she – and that would mean _we_ – spent doing some serious work with Green Peace. That was before she got too sick."

Yeah, my little hippie-chick… I never will forget the first time I laid eyes on her… she was one of a kind all right. "Well – anyway – so um I was wondering how you'd feel about maybe only putting your old man through _one_ day of holiday Hell instead of two – ?" _please…_

"I can dig it," Emma's definitely teasing me now. "Just – no tofu."

"No tofu," I agree most whole-heartedly…

We finish our coffee talking about pretty much everything and nothing – she's looking forward to this new school (ugly uniforms and all) and I'm doing a fair job of keeping it to myself just how pleased I am about the gender segregation situation they've got going on at the ol' shit brown and mustard yellow academe. I even manage not to pry further about this "J" she was talking to online that one day… with any luck at all "J" lives far, far away, so it doesn't really matter if it's a he or a she….

I pick up a half dozen lemon bars for Beth and some chocolate muffins for me and the girls and then me and Em head back to the condo…

… Only as soon as I set foot inside the door I know something's not right…

Maybe it's that Spencer doesn't come to the door to greet me – maybe it's that there's no soft humming in the background, no cartoons on the television – maybe it's just that the ol' spidy senses are finally kicking back in… and fuck me, but this is the first time in I don't know how long that I went out of the house not packing heat. I'm about to tell Emma to high tail it outa there when I hear a very familiar sound.

_Click._

It's a pistol's firing hammer being drawn back – and it's real fucking close to the back of my head. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

"I'll just betthat I'm the last guy you ever thought you'd – see – again."

I turn slowly around. I can't see him, but it doesn't matter. I know that voice.

Dan_ fucking_ Collins.

"You wanna get real technical, I can't see you now," I smirk at him, keeping my hands right in plain sight. I don't need him getting trigger happy with Emma standing next to me.

"So I heard." Collins smirks right back. Arrogant son of aprick.

Milo was supposed watching him.

So Milo's either in on it – or he's dead.

But that doesn't matter.

What matters is that nothing good _ever _lasts.

See I know. I just do. Even without Collins telling me, I _know_.

This is between him and me and anything in the way – it was just in the way. Things that are in the way get taken out of the way.

Even angels.

Inside I can feel that everything's gone nice and numb… I know this feeling, this cold, this dark… it's like an old friend or a familiar room… and everything is just where I left it, right there in the dark, waiting for me to come back…

Because nothing good **_ever_** lasts. It's just the way the world works, amigos.

…………………………………..

**  
**Spend all your time waiting  
for that second chance  
for a break that would make it okay  
There's always some reason  
to feel not good enough  
and it's hard at the end of the day  
I need some distraction  
oh, beautiful release  
memory seep from my veins  
Let me be empty  
and weightless and maybe  
I'll find some peace tonight

In the arms of the angel  
fly away from here  
From this dark cold hotel room  
and the endlessness that you fear  
You are pulled from the wreckage  
of your silent reverie  
You're in the arms of the angel  
May you find some comfort here

So tired of the straight line  
and everywhere you turn  
there's vultures and thieves  
at your back  
And the storm keeps on twisting  
you keep on building the lies  
that you make up for all  
that you lack  
It don't make no difference  
escaping one last time  
It's easier to believe  
in the sweet madness  
oh this glorious sadness  
that brings me to my knees

In the arms of the angel  
fly away from here  
From this dark cold hotel room  
and the endlessness that you fear  
You are pulled from the wreckage  
of your silent reverie  
You're in the arms of the angel  
May you find some comfort here  
You're in the arms of the angel  
May you find some comfort here

**- Sarah McLachlan - **

**("Angel")**


	45. Broken

_Ok, I know this is a really short chapter – but it should answer at least a couple of those burning questions… Thanks again to everyone for the reviews and awesome compliments! I really appreciate it._

**Chapter Forty Four:**

_Broken _

Emma steps closer to me – even without eyes, I can tell how scared she is.

And there's nothing I can say to make her less scared. All of my attention has got to be focused now – focused like it hasn't been the last few days. Focused like it should have been.

See – that's what happened. I took my eyes – so to speak – off the prize. I let myself get distracted – and – because of me – because of me – because of _me_… mon ange… mon belle ange… I got sloppy and she paid the price.

"So how's about it Jeffy – how's about a peek at the good doctor's handiwork – I hear he's a real genius. Or he was."

Oh fuck me, not in front of Emma…

Does Collins even know who she is…?

Milo does. I wonder who he's told… fucking bastard. I trusted him. I really, _really_ trusted him.

Why the fuck haven't I learned by now that you just can't fucking trust anybody… friendship is a luxury guys like me just don't have… (there's a part of my brain reminding me that Milo could be dead somewhere… if he is, I guess I'll owe him an apology the next time we meet, because even if he didn't sell me out, nice guy or not, there's only one place guys like us end up. Only thing I know for sure is that Collins will be there ahead of me – but not before I make him _hurt_.)

With a nice easy motion I reach up and slip the glasses down, giving Collins a good gander at what's not there. I hate doing this to Em – but the sometimes the only way out is through – and the only way to get through this is to go along.

"Well I'll be damned," Collins let's out a low whistle.

Next to me Em is real still. Real quiet. Real scared.

"That has got to just be the most fucked up thing I've ever seen," Collins continues.

"It is, ain't it?" I reply, sliding the glasses back into place; I allow a bit of a smirk to play across my lips. I'm taking in everything – I can smell the sweat on Collins' brow – what's he anxious about, I wonder? I can smell the gunpowder – the scent of a gun recently fired. But. Yeah. That's not exactly a shock. Like I said. I know.

"Rumour has it you were awake the whole time – that true?" Collins wants to know.

He's stalling – what the fuck is he stalling for? "Yeperooni, Scout. The whole God damned time."

"Man – that musta put you even further over the edge than you were already."

I shrug, "From where I'm standing it all looks about the same."

He just laughs, "Yeah, I'll bet it does. Still doesn't seem to have cramped your style much – how'd you like your little visit to the Long Horn State?"

"Wasn't there long enough to do any sight seeing. Food sucked though."

"You ah – find everything ok?"

"Just fine. You're too easy to figure out."

"So where is it?"

"Haven't you heard?"

"I heard some crazy-ass rumour that you'd gone over to the side of the angels."

_Breathe. Just fucking breathe._ I know what the fuck he really means – and he doesn't know enough to know that he's baiting me, at least not with that. Even if he was, I'd never rise to it. "I'm not sure anyone's ever called the Boss an angel before – but I'll be sure to let her know someone thinks she's one."

"You expect to be talkin' to her again so soon, Jeffy?"

"You're an armature."

"You really think so? From where I'm standing it looks like you're a dead man."

I just smirk, "People've been telling me that for years. Besides, a pro wouldn't be standing here jabber-jawing. A pro would have taken me out by now. You're stalling. Waiting for back up maybe?"

"You're slick, I'll give you that. We are waiting – but it ain't for backup. I don't need any help to take you out."

"So what are we waiting for?"

"De Jesus. He wants to handle you personally."

"Right here in D.C. – I think that boy's standing in a North West wind," I smirk a little more – Collins doesn't get the reference. It doesn't stop him from flapping his gums, though.

"You'd be surprised how high his connections go, Jeff. Ain't nobody can touch him – not here and not in Mexico. You finally bit off more than you could chew."

"Is that why you signed on to his little bandwagon?"

"Hey, it's better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven, right?"

"De Jesus isn't going to let a little turd like you rule anywhere. You're nothing but a two-bit son of a prick he can use to do his dirty work. Hell – he probably sent you in here alone so I could take you out for him because _you_ aren't worth his time."

(I hear Emma swallow hard next to me – she's really, really terrified… She should be; I'm playing one fuck of a dangerous game here.)

"You don't know shit," Collins tells me – there's a real edge in his voice. I hit that little nerve I was aiming for dead on.

"I know more than you do – especially after my little panty raid in your underwear drawer, there, buddy boy." Yeah, I'm bluffing… I didn't get shit from there that was interesting – but I get the feeling he thinks I did. "You slipped up. You're predictable. _ Easy_. Expendable."

"All right – I've had it with your mouth – shut the fuck up – _now_."

I just keep on smirking, "How long we gonna keep up this little stand off before you realize there ain't no one coming – you've been set up. They knew what I'd do to your ass – that's why De Jesus and Suarez sent you in alone. One man to handle the crip – the crip who took out three armed gunmen – and one little bitch – the same day he got his fucking eyes drilled out of his head. You are a dead man."

I can almost hear his blood pressure rising… and there it is, what I was waiting for, that faint rustle of clothing as he shifts position. See, I know that Danny-boy there just cannot stand to be contradicted in any way, or to have his authority challenged. (Needless to say, there's a reason we never got along. It probably doesn't help that at least half of my little guesswork is probably right on. He was set up the same way I was, set up to get taken down. No sweat. I'll oblige De Jesus on this one. I'll put it on his fucking tab… )

Collins moves (I'm assuming to crack me one across the face) – but I'm moving faster. Emma screams as the gun goes off – I'm pretty damned sure it's just a reaction to the shot because she's to my left and I shoved his arm to the right and up – and remember what I said about people not giving us crips enough credit? I can guarantee that Collins never saw it coming… I put all my weight behind me as I push him up against the nearest wall, slamming him face first into the plaster. Why, I do believe that's the sound of a nose breaking I just heard… but just for good measure, I yank his head back and ram it in a second time,_ real_ hard (gonna owe someone some new drywall here) and twist his arm around behind his back until I hear a nice little _snap_ followed by a grunt of pain. I can smell the blood, copper and salt…

(I think I hear some vaguely muffled sobs behind me, but… Collins. Dan fucking Collins. And my angels… I really can almost see them, even though I never really knew what they looked like… golden hair and green eyes, soft, warm skin tanned from the Mexican sun… beautiful… just beautiful… mother and daughter… sweet innocence… and the scent of orange, soft musk and flowers. The scent of angels. Yeah, time for this fuckmook to pay up… he's babbling at me too, but frankly I'm just not listening to anything coming out of his mouth.)

I give Collins a good shake to keep him from passing out on me and pull him around so that he's facing me. Collins' face is covered in thick warm moisture – yep that nose is broken all right – and – there. _That's_ what I was looking for.

An eye.

Nice and slow, I press my thumb into his eyeball while he squirms under me; those babblings are starting to sound just a wee bit more desperate there – more panicked – yeah, he's knows I'm not farting around here –

"_Jeff!_ That's enough! You'll kill him!"

"That's the idea, Hot Lips – nice of you to join the party, though." Yeah, that's Paula all right – sounds like she just got in the door. By the time she's taken two more steps, Collins is howling. "Hurts, doesn't it?" I growl into his ear. "It's gonna hurt a whole lot more by the time we're through, Danny-Boy." Even to me, my voice sounds foreign – feral. I'm less than a hair's breath away from loosing it – and you know, it kinda feels_ good_…

"I said **ease off**!" Paula grabs my shoulder – but she has brights enough not to actually force the issue, not to try and pull me off him. She knows how close I am to jumping into that abyss – how easily I could turn on her or anything else that gets in my way. Yeah, guys like me don't 'go over the edge', we fucking jump feet first… swan dive… tap dance all the way to the big finale… and under my thumb, I feel a satisfactory _pop_ and this little gush of goo, and pull my thumb back quick before actually penetrating bone. Yeah, I could kill him right now, it would be fucking easy. _Too_ fucking easy – Collins doesn't deserve any kind of easy… (oh yeah, there's a fuck of a lot of screeching going on under me – but – well, that's become background noise by this point.)

"Jeff, for Christ's sake, your kid is watching you!" Paula hisses in my ear.

Kid.

Emma.

Fuck.

**Fuck**.

I listen to Collins shriek for another couple of seconds – and then pull myself back from the edge. Collins isn't worth my time.

But I'm real satisfied by the thump he makes when he hits the floor.

"I've got it from here," Paula tells me – but I'm not really moving.

That numb feeling is going away… and I really do not like what's replacing it… it's this kind of empty sort of thing… it's like – it's like there's just _nothing_ there, _nothing _inside… hollow… it's cold, but it's not numb. It hurts. It hurts too much to even move.

"Jeff – I've got Collins – go – take care of your daughter."

What is Paula doing here…? I mean – I remember her coming in – but what is she doing here? I need that numb feeling to come back so I can fucking think straight.

I feel Paula shoving something at me – cloth – a hankie?

"Clean off your hands," she hisses quietly, "And go take care of your daughter."

Hands.

Blood.

Goo.

Fuck.

"De Jesus," I say to Paula.

"What?"

"Collins said something about De Jesus being here in D.C. – "

"Shelly – "

"Sheldon – "

I hear the two voices almost at the same time… but … it's not possible. I'm sure I hear tiny feet coming down the stairs – tiny feet that sound like they're on the ends of some pretty shaky little legs… and… and there's another set of footsteps, four footed foot steps, coming down the stairs with her. But this has to be some kind of fucked up hallucination. Collins never would have left her alive. I'm losing it, that's all… the wind has shifted direction and I'm losing it for real this time.

"Oh my God, Cicily – " That's Emma's voice (how can she see my hallucination I wonder). It sounds like she's pretty fucked up herself… maybe she's just imagining things too.

I tried to warn her that I was no Daddy Warbucks.

I tried to get my sister to just keep her for another couple of months.

Maybe I should have let Alison ship her off to some state home – anywhere would be better than with me.

I'm a fucking menace.

I let Beth in. I let Cicily in. I loved them. And now they're dead.

Because of me.

Because nothing good ever lasts.

And I've finally lost it for real this time.

Everything is crumbling inside… crumbling outside… just… crumbling.

"Shelly – _Shelly_ –?" Emma's voice is barely audible – and not just because of that fucking ruckus in the background.

(I've pretty much blocked Collins' voice out except to acknowledge that it's there, it just doesn't matter. Nothing matters, not any more…)

"**_Shelly_ **–"

Emma.

She matters. She does. But everything is in these little tiny fragments…

I feel Emma's her hand on my arm… I think she's trying to get my attention. I think she's talking, I just can't quite process the words.

Then tiny arms wrap themselves around my waist – and it's all I can do to keep from falling over when I hear that voice again, saying my name:

_Sheldon._

Cicily?

"Please – don't go away –"

I know that voice, and it's like something shaking through me… because she's real. Cicily. She's not just in my head.

I wrap my arms around her – and she's there. She's solid. She's – she's real. And I become aware of Emma wrapping her arms around my neck, hanging onto me – hanging on, not shying away. Not afraid of me.

"I'm sorry, Em," it's all I can think to say to her. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

She doesn't say anything – but she doesn't pull away. She's shaking. She's crying. She's hanging onto me.

I slide one arm away from Cicily's small form to draw my daughter into an embrace, telling her again how sorry I am. It just feels so fucking lame. Maybe after this… maybe that Jim guy… maybe anywhere but here… and Cicily – I'll kill that fuckmook father of hers before… Christ, what am I going to do now…? I turn my attention towards the small, terrified little girl who's clinging onto me – my little angel. "Sweetheart – what happened?" I ask her, trying to keep my voice calm. Rational. I kneel down so I'm closer to her level (Em moves with me – she's just too scared to let go, I think.)

"Mama told me to take Spencer and find a place to hide – then I heard a man's voice – then a real loud bang," she sniffles. Yeah. She gets it. Fuck, she lived in Culiacan – Cicily knows what gunfire sounds like. She knows all about violence, compliments of dear old dad. Yeah – I'll kill the fucker before I let him near her again.

"Jeff – in here," Paula calls out – sounds like she's in the dining room.

And I know why she wants me... "Em – "

I feel her nod – she's – she's not even processing that I can't see her – but she understands, she'll stay with Cicily while I go 'see.'

"I want you two to go upstairs," I tell my daughter. Upstairs away from Collins… Collins – he's still fucking howling – but – Paula must have cuffed him before leaving the room, secured him somehow. I don't care. I still don't want my girls anywhere near the fucker. Only Cicily doesn't seem to want to let go of me. (But I know why Paula's calling for me – I can't let Cicily see what's waiting for me in the next room…) "Cicily – " I try to dislodge her arms, very, very gently. "It's ok – just go back upstairs for a few more minutes."

"Don't leave – _please don't leave!_"

I cup her little face in my hand – only belatedly praying that it's clean… but as the good Lady MacBeth found out – there's clean and there's clean and my hands will never be clean… but I guess they're clean enough because when Cicily grabs onto my wrist, it isn't to push me away. She hangs on for dear life.

"Please don't leave us Sheldon! Don't go away again – "

"I'm just going into the other room – Emma will stay with you –"

"NO!"

"Come on," Emma seems calmer now, having someone else to focus on.

"I'll be right in the other room – I promise, I'm not leaving you," I tell Cicily, as Emma finally dislodges her.

"Jeff – " Paula calls me again.

"Yeah – be right there," I holler back wondering (in a vague and detached sort of way) what the urgency is. I know what's waiting for me.

"We're ok," Emma assures me – they don't sound ok, Cicily's broken into ragged sobs – but Em calls Spencer to come up with them and that seems to help convince Cicily that it's going to be ok. Almost ok – because really, how can it ever be ok again?

And it's all my fault. "I won't be long," I say more to Cicily than Emma. I wonder if Jim has room for two (I can make it worth his while and somehow I trust Holly's judgment; he must really be an ok sort of guy despite that whole nudist thing.) And yeah, I_ know_ what I just promised, but I can't do this. I can't take care of either of them… if I could… if I could take care of anyone, none of this would have happened. I listen to my girls go up the stairs and head towards the sound of Paula's voice.

"Back here," Paula calls as I step into the dining room.

I step towards her – and – I know –

"I've got a pulse," Paula tells me, real quietly.

And – this time I do fall over. Luckily there's a wall right there to keep me from actually kissing the floor because – because my legs just don't want to work right now. "She's – "

"I've got a heart beat and she's breathing," Paula repeats. "EMS is already on the way – when my guys didn't check in – and – I just knew something'd gone wrong."

Alive. Beth… "Paula, talk to me here – " _please tell me she's really not going to die on me … please just let there be some chance, just some slim little chance… she doesn't deserve to die because of me…she was never anything but good to me… _

"It's a chest wound – there's still a pulse so the bullet must've missed her heart – but it's fucking close, Jeff. There's a lot of blood."

I kneel and – and I don't know what to do… I'm feeling my way blindly in the dark… Paula takes my hand and guides me towards Beth, puts her hands in mine. But – all I can do is sit here and hold her… I can't even pray that she'll be all right because who the fuck Up There would listen to me anyway?

…………………………………………………………………..

I will remember you, will you remember me?  
Don't let your life pass you by,  
Weep not for the memories  
Remember the good times that we had?  
I let them slip away from us when things got bad.  
How clearly I first saw you smilin' in the sun  
Wanna feel your warmth upon me  
I wanna be the one

I will rememeber you, will you remember me?  
Don't let your life pass you by  
Weep not for the memories

I'm so tired but I can't sleep  
Standin' on the edge of something much too deep  
It's funny how we feel so much but we cannot say a word  
We are screaming inside, but we can't be heard

But I will remember you, will you remember me?  
Don't let your life pass you by  
Weep not for the memories

I'm so afraid to love you  
But more afraid to lose  
Clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose  
Once there was a darkness  
Deep and endless night  
You gave me everything you had, oh you gave me light

And I will remember you, will you remember me?  
Don't let your life pass you by  
Weep not for the memories  
Weep not for the memories

**Sarah Mclachlan - **

("**I Will Remember You")**

_I know it must seem like I'm on a real Sarah Mclachlan kick, but if you're familiar with her stuff, it is just so evocative of the mood here…   
_


	46. He didn’t see it coming…

Whew, from way short to way long… but it was either that or chop this one in half some how and that just wasn't working either…

So – sorry to keep y'all in suspense, but here it is… and this one has a couple of twists too…

(And a really huge thank you to everyone for reviewing! It never fails to make my day when I see those notices in my email.)

……………………………………………………….

**Chapter Forty Five:**

_Hedidn't see it coming… _

I remember waking up, scared out of my mind, not knowing where I was or how badly I'd been screwed over this time – and an angel's sweet voice cut through the fog and pain, telling me that I was safe, that she'd take care of me.

I remember her leading me to the bath, putting me in the water, sitting with me through the fever – I leaned back into her strength and I knew I was safe. I knew that she really must be an angel, because no mortal could be so fucking kind, not to a guy like me. No mortal would be able to look at me and not be at the sight of my ruined face.

I remember her singing me to sleep and I remember her scent – that orange-floral-musk.

I remember her holding me in the dark, chasing away the nightmares, making me be believe that I would be all right, that I was strong enough to get through what had happened.

I remember her promising me that she wouldn't leave me alone in the dark. I remember that when she said it, I stopped being so afraid.

I remember her telling me that someday I would trust her.

I remember her holding onto me for comfort… _me._ She held onto _me_… but it was so comfortable, laying there with her arms around me. I kissed the top of her head and told her to call me Sheldon. And I remember how much I loved the way it sounded when she said it.

I remember that kiss she gave me that night, just a peck on the cheek but – my Christ, the things she conveyed in that little kiss.

I remember that kiss in her hallway and how much I wanted to take her right then and there and make all the hurt go away… but I couldn't. Someone was waiting for me…

I remember every last detail of last night – kissing her, caressing her, loving her – making love to her.

I _don't _remember when I fell in love with her. I just know that I did.

But I do remember how much I missed her when I left Mexico – and how good it felt to hear the sound of her voice that day she called. I remember how good it felt to hear Cicily's voice that day. I missed my little angle reading to me at night.

My angels. I don't know what I'd do if I lost them.

They followed me to D.C.

Beth followed me out into the snow and talked me back from the edge Alison's words had driven me to.

And now…

Now she's bleeding to death in my arms.

Paula's helped me apply pressure to the wound, slowed the blood some, but… but it's not good. The human body only has so much blood and when that's all gone… when that's all gone you just die… and there's nothing I can do… I can't make it stop coming out.

I hear the sirens – voices – the paramedics tell me that I have to move – have to let them do their job – have to let go, just for a few minutes – I don't know if I know how to let go of her – Paula helps. She stands with me while they get her onto a stretcher – while do whatever it is they have to do. I strain to hear – but nothing they're saying is really making any sense except that it doesn't look good – only I don't need a fucking paramedic to tell me that. I already know she's dying. And I know it's because of me…

And I remember all those nightmares where glass broke and bullets flew – I remember feeling Beth bleeding to death in my arms with Cicily sobbing in the next room… just like she is now…

"I'll take the girls and your dog," Paula's voice cuts through the dark haze of my thoughts, "You stay with Beth."

"Paula – " I don't even think I have the words to say thank you.

"Just – go. We'll be right behind you."

I follow them out and manage to scramble into the back of the ambulance without hurting myself or anyone else, but staying out of the way is hard. I _need_ to be where I can see her – and the only way I can see is through my hands. I just need to know she's there – I need to know – I need to just know she's really still with me. Finally, one of them – a young man – seems to understand and situates me so that I can keep my hands on Beth's legs while they continue to work to stop the bleeding… it really doesn't look good at all…

_Please don't die on me…_

……………………….

"You can't stay here," says a woman – a nurse I presume, but that may be sexist of me, for all I know she's a brain surgeon.

"And you can't make me move," I reply. I'm standing just outside the operating room where they're working on my angel. I'm just leaning up against the wall, nice and out of the way of everyone coming and going – if they'd let me inside the OR, I would be there instead of here, but I suppose the guys who brought her back here had to draw the line somewhere. Spencer really couldn't come back here, so he's with Paula and the girls in the waiting room, but I'm not budging. Not for this lady or the two others before her who tried to get me to go to the waiting room 'where I belong'. "Before you think about calling security," I add, "I feel it's only fair to warn you that I can think of six ways to kill a man right off the top of my head – and that's _before_ I take his sidearm away. Your best bet, sister, is to just leave me right where I am."

I hear her open her mouth. And shut it again. I doubt I look like I'm kidding.

"Sands – "

I don't bother turning my head in the speaker's direction. It's Eddas. I'm not sure how I feel about her right now. I'm not sure how I feel about anything. I just know I'm not moving from this spot until Beth is out of surgery. (I wish they'd give me some kind of fucking update – but honestly I don't even know how long I've been standing here. It could have been minutes or hours – everything is just so fucking black. Cold. Empty. It's a painful kind of empty, like when you suddenly realize how good you feel about life – and then that thing that makes you feel so good gets taken away, only what's left behind is even emptier than the big hole that was there before the something good came along…)

"Sands," Eddas says again as she draws nearer.

"You can't be here either," the nurse/doctor says to her.

"Yes I can," Eddas says – she doesn't sound like she's interested in dealing with hospital staff any more than I am. And – I'm guessing she flashes her ID and that it's at least enough to secure some temporary peace. She waits until the woman has left before returning her attention to me, "I just heard – how is she?"

"I don't know."

"I'm sorry."

_Yeah, I'll bet you are lady – I trusted you too._ But I keep it to myself. I don't really feel like talking to her. Or anyone else.

"We lost Milo." Eddas tells me.

Fuck. "Dead?" I need a cigarette – but I'm not budging from the spot long enough to go smoke one.

"MIA."

And fuck. Again. Because that could mean… that could mean he really did sell me out. And somehow now, with all the adrenaline out of my system, with that wonderful numbness gone, somehow the thought of Milo turning against me after all this… it's hard to fucking swallow, especially since I know he knew what De Jesus and his goons would do to Beth and the girls. Even if he might maybe have tried to make some kind of arrangement to keep them out of it – a guy like De Jesus just wouldn't care who got in his way and Milo would have had to fucking know that. (And apparently I've done something to rub this De Jesus the wrong fucking way. There's a part of my brain wondering what exactly that was… but it can wait. Nothing is more important than my angel… my girls.)

And – I really did believe Milo that was at the very top of that very short list of people who were unlikely to ever fuck me over. Not after me and him and six guys beating the crap out of him (although I swear, I didn't do that for him, I did it for me, for Chet – for the sheer fucking fun of it.) But – after that night on the beach when we talked about normal and family and – and all kinds of shit that I don't think either of us would have talked about with anybody else….. after holding onto each other in a cold, dark cell where when I asked him why he didn't just let me fucking die already, he confessed that he was just too scared of being alone to let me leave like that… after everything he's done for me in the last few weeks… I was really starting to think that maybe we might just possibly be something more to one another than a couple of guys who get together twice a decade to get shit faced and act stupid. And I admit it – I liked the feeling. I like Milo, I really do. But never trust anybody, right? That's where I went wrong in Culiacan, I trusted Ajedrez. I trusted her and she just fucking sat there the whole time, watching as Guevara drilled my eyes out of my head. She just sat there listening to me scream… I couldsee her, at least for a little while, before the world went black… the last fucking thing I saw was the smug look on her face… I think it was her who gave me that last little shove out the door onto the street…

"Sands?"

Eddas. Right. I think she might have been talking to me and I missed it. I don't think I really care. "You have any leads on De Jesus?" I ask her (I just assume she's been briefed by someone.)

"He could be anywhere. The DEA and FBI are coordinating efforts to look for him – but – I doubt he'll be caught unless he does something stupid."

"So what happened?"

"You tell me."

"I got back to the condo and there was Collins," I shrug. "Rest is pretty much fucking obvious."

"He murdered the officers – and two FBI agents – who were watching the place," she tells me.

"I kinda figured that much out on my own. Dan Collins isn't good enough to just sneak in."

"Did he he anything to you?"

"That De Jesus wanted to deal with me personally. I don't know why. But I think I hit a nerve when I went riffling through Collins' underwear drawer – it's just that nothing I've come up with so far from his storage unit seems worth – all this." Even his dirty laundry list, as personal as that might be – it's not worth the price of getting caught, not when it's going to mean getting sent up for killing a couple of feebs and fellow officer… "He gave me the impression that De Jesus is pretty well connected here in the U.S." I add. We knew it went up pretty high on the ol' Hill, compliments of Paula – but – but I guess we really didn't know that it was De Jesus who had the connections… Fuck me – I think I need a whole carton of cigarettes, my brain is just not processing shit right, right now… and when I feel Eddas' hand on my arm, I pull back. I'm in no fucking mood for whatever sympathy or understand she was going to try to give me. I'm not even sure how long I'm going to be able to stay in her good graces, because even if I hadn't almost lost it on Collins, I'm not so sure I'm really up for this team player thing. After all, I _am_ a cowboy… Eddas is talking again:

"I've got people on the hospital – good people, people I trust. No one is going to get to her here – and Collins isn't going anywhere either."

"Spiffy. I'm staying right where I am."

"Look – I know you feel like need to stay here – I'm not going to argue with you over it," she adds, probably seeing the way I was opening my mouth to tell her just how pointless that argument would indeed be. Eddas continues: "But that's you. Not Emma and Cicily. They've been through Hell – and a hospital waiting room isn't where either of them need to be right now. It's probably not the best place for the CIA officer who's supposed to be investigating you to be hanging out, either."

Fuck. She's right. The last place Paula should be seen is here, helping my sorry ass. She can probably pass it off as – as something. She's creative. "I – I can't leave – and I can't send the girls back to the condo – it's – it's a mess. I think I owe your guy some new drywall."

"I'm sure Patrick will understand. And – Jeff – Milo _wasn't_ in on this. I've worked with him for three years – I know him. I trust him – and I'm doing everything I can to find him."

"Of it hadn't cross your mind that he might be in on it, you wouldn't be bringing it up to me that he's not, there Doll Face." I really don't know what's worse, thinking about him dead somewhere – or forcing myself to acknowledge that he very probably _did _screw me over and that he did it knowing what would happen to Beth and our girls. If Milo's not dead already, I swear he fucking will be when I get through with him…

"I'm bringing it up because I'm sure it's crossed _your_ mind, but – I don't believe for a minute that he'd sell out a friend. I don't think you really believe it either."

"Guys like us don't have friends."

"He stuck his neck out to bring you into my office – to bring you back into this country. And _you're _willing to stick your neck out for him by taking the heat for being my rat in the CIA."

"Yeah well – I'm just fucking stupid."

"You know I don't believe that."

I just snort.

"Look – the real point is – is that your daughter – Beth's daughter – they shouldn't be stuck in a hospital waiting room. This is scary enough."

"Em's – Em's used to it," shit. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing right now. Holly's been dead what – three months? And here Em is back in a hospital again – but you know, I can't think anyone I'd rather leave Cicily with right now. At least I know she's – safe? No, I don't know she's safe, nowhere is safe, not with De Jesus running around – but – they're here. They're close.

"They're kids, Sands. I'm sure your daughter likes to think of herself as a grownup – believe it or not, I have some vague recollection of fifteen – but even if she thinks she's adult enough to handle this, I can't believe you think she is. You know – Hell you, know better than the rest of us what the world is like."

"Yeah. Yeah that I do Doll Face. Thing is – I kinda don't have any other options. I'm not leaving Beth – I can't – and I just don't have anyone who can take care of them."

"What if there was someone?"

"Who?" I ask, because if her tone is any indication, I'm not gonna like this.

"Something just came to my attention – and – and under the circumstances I'm going to butt in just long enough to urge you keep an open mind, because there are worse options available. Although – if it came down to it, I've got a spare room that never gets used. I'm just not sure they'd be happy coming home with me. I'm not the most nurturing individual – my work is my life. But – it's an option – and it's not the only one you've got."

(And she thinks_ I'm_ a nurturing individual?… however…) "I really don't think I'd like this kind of fucking vaguely under the best of circumstances, there Boss Lady –"

"There's someone in the waiting room who wants to talk to you – just listen – and – remember that spare room at my place. I take care of my own, Sands. I know you don't think you have any reason to trust anybody right now – but – I take care of my people – and God help me, that means you, too."

"Yeah." Right. I don't like any of this… but she really did stick around that day they debriefed me… she didn't have to do that. "Could you – do me a favour before you leave – ?"

"What is it?"

"I just – could you take a look in there and just tell me – ?" _something. **Anything.**_

There's a brief pause, presumably while she looks through the window, "I'm no doctor – but – no one looks panicked so – I guess that's a good sign."

"Thanks."

And it occurs to me after I hear her leave that I probably should have at least asked who the fuck was here with her…

I don't think more than a few minutes pass before I hear footsteps that are clearly out of place. Hard soled shoes (everyone around here wears thick rubber soled shoes.) The shoes are flats – men's shoes. Men's footsteps. Aqua Velva? I only know one guy who wears that crap. _Tonto_. But what the fuck is he doing here – and what the fuck could he possibly have to say to me _**now**_.

"Jeff – " he begins, real uncertain sounding. "It's me – Ryan."

"Recognized your aftershave."

"Ah. Look – ah – how is she – your friend?"

"How the fuck do you _think_ she is – she took a bullet to the chest at close range – they're fishing it out of her now."

"I'm – sorry. To hear, I mean – "

"Look, Kid – this is not the time for – for anything."

"You have no idea – "

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Fuck me I need a God damned cigarette.

"This isn't the time or place I ever would have wanted to have this conversation – in fact I wasn't even sure I even wanted to have it at all – "

"So let's just not."

"Jeff – does the name Abigail Moss mean anything to you?"

"Sorry – no fucking clue. Of course right now my own name doesn't mean all that much to me."

"About – twenty seven years ago, she worked for a guy – Greg Adam Sands."

Oh fuck me but good, "Kid – if this is going where I just think it might be going – I suggest you stop right there." I am not in the mood for – for fucking anything, but I am especially not in the mood for_ this_. "You just walk away now and I'll pretend you were never here," I give him one of those cold little smiles – but do you think that Tonto has enough sense to take some very good, if less than friendly, advice from me right now?

_Of course not… _

"I knew who you were when I asked to be assigned to you, but I swear, my being in the DOJ, that was just coincidence. I looked for you before – but – I don't have to tell you how hard you were to find. I had no idea who you worked for."

_No of course, he didn't… _

"This is your last chance to back down and walk away while your legs still work, there Buckaroo because you are very seriously less than five seconds away from making that fiancé of yours a widow before she even gets to walk down the aisle," I warn the kid in a tone of voice that _should_ convince him I'm not fucking kidding here. I don't need this kind of crap. I wouldn't need it on a good day, but I sure as Hell don't need it today.

"Jeff – please let me get through this. I've rehearsed it in my head a hundred times – "

"Did you rehearse the part where I put my foot up your keister?"

"Yes."

Ok, that gets me – sour mood, deep dark hollow feeling at the pit of my stomach and all, that really does get me. It's a short lived laugh (and it's pretty cold) – but there it is.

"It started when Jeanie and I started talking about marriage – just in the abstract at first – you know – what if – "

"Yeah, yeah, yeah – just cut to the fucking finale, you know the part where you thought it would be a good idea to lay this kind of shit on me today of all days – which is right before the encore. _That's_ where I hurt you – and that's the part I'm looking forward to."

"Just – hear me out. Jeanie's from this big, close knit family – for me growing up, it was just me and Mom – and later my stepfather. I really love Rich, he's great, but – I guess I just wanted to know more about where I really came from. I didn't have much to work with, but – I tracked your sister down and tried to get in touch with her about six months ago. She pretty much slammed the door in my face."

"Don't take it all personal-like. Al's just like that. Apparently it has something to do with growing up with me." Personal – kid said his reasons for wanting to work with me were fucking _personal_… oh fuck me but good. Rod Serling's gotta be hanging out around here fucking somewhere because I've gotta be in the Twilight Zone. Tonto's still talking:

"Her husband made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with me – "

"Roscoe's a real charmer, isn't he?" _Serendipity_ – that's what Holly would have called this. Fucking serendipity – things lining up just so, just to screw with a person's sense of – of well everything.

"I take it she never mentioned anything to you – ?" Tonto asks.

"Al and I aren't exactly what you'd call close. You know, the whole never knowing just which rock I'm going to crawl up from under – or when – to come and disrupt her cozy little suburban life. That and apparently she's sore at me for some of the shit I pulled when we were kids. You did get the memo that I'm not all together stable, right?"

"I remember you pulling a gun on me in the motel," (I can't quite tell if he's pissed at me over it – or just still a little twitchy from the experience). "I've never been that close to agun before – and never on the wrong end – but – yeah, I'd heard the rumours about you, after – after I heard that you were coming to work for DOJ, I tried to find out what I could."

"And yet here you still are – so you're either suicidal or – what the insanity really is hereditary – ?"

"That isn't funny."

"It wasn't meant to be."

There are a few moments of uneasy silence (although frankly silence suits me just fine right now, easy or otherwise. Of course it isn't long lived...)

Tonto starts up again: "It wasn't just you two that I went looking for. I tried to get in touch with Gloria's and Joyce's children, too," his tone suggests that he_ honestly _believes I give a flying fuck. Apparently, in Mayberry they don't teach their young-uns that the children of the first wife don't necessarily care about the second and third wives and we definitely don't give a shit about their offspring. (Gloria, as you may recall, was wife number two, you know the one my old man left us high and dry to go play house with. He left her for Joyce just a few years later. I know that both bore him children, and the fact that there were others after Joyce isn't exactly a shock, I just never figured any of them would be stupid enough to come looking… and this is really just too fucked up for words, gang. _Fucking **personal **reasons_…)

But colour me the teensiest bit curious, anyway, "Any luck with that little venture?" I ask – I kinda do wonder how the offspring of Two and Three reacted to Tonto showing up on their doorsteps… and what the Hell, it's a distraction... as if I could really be distracted from the fact that I'm standing right outside the room where doctors are digging around inside my angel to fish out a bullet. You know, maybe if I _really_ loved her, I'd just walk away now... but… Tonto is speaking, and I guess I should pay at least a _little_ bit of attention to what he's got to say, seeing as I asked a question an' all:

"I tracked them down, but only one would speak to me – Joyce's son, Arnie. He's in prison, and – I think he's just happy to have someone to talk to – well, write to, we've never actually met face to face, but we've been corresponding for almost four months. I got the impression his family doesn't have anything to do with him any more, even though he seems like a really great guy – I mean – other than being in prison."

"What's he in for?" Like I said, colour me curious.

"White collar type stuff – but – he told me he sort of lost it and – tried to hold up a convenience store – the gun wasn't loaded but that doesn't matter. He's serving fifteen years at a medium security prison in Arizona."

Christ on a crutch, what a total fuckmook. And Tonto's still jaw-jabbing over there:

"Mom couldn't tell me much about – Greg Sands," (I hear that pause there, while Tonto – _wisely _– considers what exactly he should call the subject.) "I've never even seen a photo of him," he adds.

"Trust me, Kid, you didn't miss a thing." And fuck – I didn't really mean to say that, I didn't mean to say anything. He just sounds so fucking eager over there, like I could somehow – somehow give him the information that would just make his fucking day. News flash – Greg Sands was a son a prick who couldn't keep his dick in his jockeys – as is evidenced by the sheer number of fucking offspring. Or in Tonto's case, non-fucking offspring… oh fuck me, I think I need something for my head. It's really starting to throb. Anybody got a gun? Oh wait – no, I'd shoot Tonto first and I think that might upset the staff who're already pretty unhappy with me…

"Look – I know must be a shock – "

"**No**. Finding out that the woman I'd been sleeping with was Armando Barillo's daughter – that was a shock. Having my eyes drilled out of my head while she fucking watched – _that_ was a shock. Learning that my daughter's mother had died of a disease she never even bothered to tell me that she fucking_ had_, and that I was suddenly responsible for a fifteen year old daughter I was never even supposed to_ meet_ – well, you've met my little Muffin, so I'm sure you can imagine just what kind of a shock that was. And coming home to find Dan fucking Collins in my living room, that was a real fucker of a shock all right, let me tell you. But finding out that the old man propagated – fuck me, I _knew_ that. I knew Gloria'd given him one brat – and Joyce had two girls and that boy who you say's taken a shine to you." From prison – what a fucking shock _that _is (sarcasm, kiddies. I'm surprised more of us didn't end up in the pokey – or the loony bin. Maybe after this is through I'll go check myself into a nice little padded room somewhere…) "I just stopped keeping score after Joyce – the old man had pretty much established his pattern and – and I just don't care." And now I _really_ need a fucking cigarette – or maybe some nice security guard will just come along and blow a hole in my skull because I haven't had a headache this bad in – in weeks. Is this really what the rest of my life is going to be…?

"I'm – sorry," Tonto says to me.

You know something – I don't care if he's sorry, or what he's sorry about. "How long has the Boss known?" That's what I wanna know right now.

"Less than an hour. We were having coffee when she got the call about your friend. I – figured – maybe under the circumstances I should tell her. And you."

"Well don't expect me to get all fucking warm and fuzzy on you just because we happen to share the same sperm donor. In point of fact, it could make me like you a whole lot less." Just in case he hadn't figured that out for himself… Christ on a crutch. I need a drink.

"I know. I just – I want to help."

"Good. Then go back to your happy little life and leave me alone."

And I almost deck the kid when I feel his hand on my arm. He manages to back off me, just in time. "Sorry – I didn't mean – I just – " Tonto stumbles over his own tongue.

"I told you what you could do if you wanted to help. Now fuck off."

"I know about your daughter's grandparents – and – just – give me thirty seconds more – "

Apparently the fact that that is a real sore subject shows on my face.

"They don't really have a legal leg to stand on – but – I mean – if anything weird happened – it is legally more sound to have your daughter staying with a blood relative than a non-relative."

"You've got to be shitting me."

"I know you're not a lawyer – "

I wave his words aside, "You've seen my kid. Do you really think _you_ can handle that?"

"She's fifteen."

"And she's all mine – I don't mean that in a possessive sort of way, Kid," I add when I hear him open his mouth to protest, "I mean that the apple just did not fall far from the ol' tree there."

"She's still fifteen – and scared. I can handle that. I'm good with kids – and under the circumstances – I just want to help. I knew you wouldn't take it well, but I knew eventually I'd end up telling you what my personal reasons really were – "

"And you thought _today_ would be a good day to spring the news?" Well, what's that saying '_today is a good day to die'_ – I guess Tonto could have woken up with that thought buzzing around his brain…

"No, of course not. But I just thought – with the situation – that – look, I don't expect you to get all 'warm and fuzzy' on me. I just want to do what I can to help, even though I know telling you now pretty much tanks any chance I might have had to get you to reconsider your position on keeping me around as your assistant. That's why Marlina and I were having coffee – I was trying to persuade her to – to let me have one more chance at it. Only she told me it was really your decision. I was going to come talk to you about it tomorrow."

"Now I know you're shitting me."

"I'm not – shitting you."

I almost smirk – I actually got Mr. Squeaky Clan to swear. My Christ, this is just too fucked up…

"I meant everything I said about it being really great to have been able to work with you. I'd like to keep on working with you – but I know this isn't the time to discuss something like that, so I'll just tell you that I'm going to ask you to reconsider, later, when things are – better – you know, with your friend."

"Don't expect my answer to change."

"I don't. But I'm still going to ask."

"So that's why you want to help – you want to soften me up? Prove that blood is thicker than water, all that crap?" _You 'help me' so I'll want to keep you around… _Oh fuck me, but this just isn't happening, none of it. It's not real, I'm asleep somewhere, maybe on the sofa, and any minute Beth is going to wake me up… and why the fuck did I have to leave her alone today… ? If I'd been there…

"I want to help because I can."

Where have I heard _that_ before...? (Remember, that's what Milo said, not so long ago… Milo, who fucking sold me out… maybe. I don't know. I just don't fucking know anything any more… ) "Look, Kid, it's a real swell offer, you taking in my darling little offspring and all – but you know, I just don't think it's a good idea."

"Why are you so reluctant?"

"Because every time I trust someone, I get screwed up the ass."

I think he's about to say something more – I'm sure it's not something I want to hear – but we both stop dead in it when a door swings open just to my left.

"Mr. Sands – ?" The speaker is male, middle aged – and he sounds tired.

"I'm Sands." And I'm afraid to breathe.

"I'm Dr. Reynolds – "

"How is she?" _please just tell me she's alive…_

"We got the bullet out with only minor complications, but it's the next few hours that will really tell us how it went."

"What does that mean?" I want to know – they got it out, she's still alive – what more could there be?

"Your friend lost a lot of blood before the paramedics arrived, and the bullet was lodged _very_ close to her spine. I removed it with only minor complications," he says again, "But there could be some nerve damage. I won't know with any degree of certainty until she wakes up what, if any, the extent of that damage is. And – I won't lie to you, I have great concern when any patient looses that much blood before even getting into my OR."

"What_ exactly_ are you saying?" Because let me tell you, his tone is less than encouraging.

"The human body is a remarkable machine, Mr. Sands – and she's more stable than I would've expected. But – only time will tell for sure if your friend is going to fully recover from this or not."

Fully recover… what the fuck does that mean…

"I know this is the hard part," Reynolds' voice takes on an almost condescending tone. "But all we can do is wait – it'll be a few hours before the anesthetic wears off – and she may still be out of it for a while after that. The best thing for you to do now is to just go home and get some rest – "

"I'm not fucking leaving – and there's no room for discussion."

Which I'm sure doesn't make this guy real happy…

"Jeff – "

"You're already on some real fucking thin ice, Kid," I warn Tonto.

"I wasn't going to suggest that you go home. I was going to say that maybe you should go tell Cicily and Emma that Beth is out of surgery."

And as much as I hate to admit it, I know he's right…

…Under the circumstances, I (begrudgingly) allow Tonto to guide me to the waiting room. The first thing I hear is Cicily getting up from her chair and skittering over to me as fast as she can without actually running. The second think I hear is the little sob in her voice when she asks me if her mother (Mama) is dead.

Christ on a crutch.

I knew Cicily knew all about violence but – but I scoop her up into my arms and hang on tight, because it just bugs the shit right out of me that my little angel is aware enough of that kind of violence to ask me if her mother is dead. Not if she's alive, not if she's all right – but _is she dead_…

(Oh yeah, and Tonto slips off into a corner somewhere, giving me plenty of space, which is a real smart move right about now.)

"Everything's going to be ok," I tell Cicily quietly.

"Don't lie to me," she sniffles into my ear; she's hanging on real tight, too.

"Ok – how about I don't know for sure that everything's going to be ok, but your mother made it through surgery ok and – and I really, really want everything to be ok – ok?"

"Ok."

My little angel… I become aware of Emma's presence – and it feels like Spencer is standing right by my legs, too (and that just reminds me of Milo…how the fuck could he have done this to Beth and the girls…? It just doesn't make sense. But nothing makes sense any more…)

Em puts her arms around my waist and just holds on.

"It's gonna be all right," I tell her.

"I know. But I'm still scared."

_Yeah – me too. Me too… _

"Officer Sands?" That's Paula there sounding all official – well, the words are official, but her tone is pretty mild and that hand on my shoulder giving me a little squeeze tells me all the things she can't really say out loud, not with Eddas here. (Yeah, she's still here – I heard her voice in the background when I first came in, it just wasn't a real priority in my world. It sounds like she's talking on her cell…)

"Thanks for sitting with the girls," I say to Paula.

"Hey – no problem. It was ah – the only decent thing to do."

"I hope you don't land feet first in any rotten kimchee over it."

She laughs, just a little, "I can handle myself. You gonna be ok if I head back into work? You've given me quite a mess to sort out here, Babe."

I just smirk at her, "Hey, what are friends for, right?"

"Friends like you, a girl doesn't need any enemies."

"Go and get back to work – I've got it from here."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure – go."

"Just – one more thing," she tells me quietly – then switches to Mandarin. "The other night in the bar – I was a little drunk – and a lot out of line."

I reply in kind, "You weren't that out of line. You know me."

"I'm not so sure about that – but I like this side of you – anyway," she continues on hurriedly, "I just wanted to apologize. I feel like an idiot for coming onto you like – like a bloody train wreck."

"Accepted," I just shrug at her. She really had no reason to think I wouldn't go home with her.

"I'll call you soon," Paula takes her leave of me quickly – and I think the reason is on its way over. Eddas. I recognize her staccato steps and that high end cologne of hers.

"Dan Collins has been charged with – a number of things," she tells me.

Yeah, probably not good to go into details with the girls right here. "Cicily – can I put you down so I can talk to my boss?" I ask.

Cicily clings to me tighter, barely audibly telling me 'no.'

"It's all right," Eddas says. "I just wanted you to know – he's at OMS, but he's under lock and key."

OMS – that's where sick and injured spies go to get better. "Any word on um – hmm – what he's saying about what happened?"

"My understanding is that there were no witnesses to whatever altercation took place between the two of you – at least that's according to Officer Basil. She said she arrived after the fact and really couldn't speculate to what took place before her arrival – although I am under the impression that she's going to collect the – physical evidence – before heading back to Langley."

I'll be damned…

"So – it's his word against yours – and – given that I'm not inclined to prosecute based on whatever he has to say about the matter, I doubt that the D.A. will have any inclinations of that sort either. Technically, we can claim it as a Federal matter, given the circumstances."

Maybe it's safe to have a little faith in humanity after all… Eddas phone rings again and she excuse herself...

With Emma's help, I put my butt in a chair without having to put Cicily down; she really isn't ready to let go. That's ok – I'm not really ready to let go either, but I am ready to fall down, so sitting feels good.

Emma leans over and tells me that she brought me a clean shirt, "I just thought – you know," I kind of feel her shrug. She doesn't take her head off my shoulder even after she's done talking, either. I'm not sure, but I don't think Cicily's the only one who's been crying.

But – at least Emma's not afraid of me… I can't believe I came that close to losing it. I can't believe I did that right in front of her… I'm not even sure how much of the blood I'm no doubt wearing is Collins'… and Cicily has curled herself right into my lap... Christ… just about then, I feel Emma sliding her arm into mine, getting just that much closer. "Look – Em – about what happened – "

"I don't care what happened," she tells me – there's this little edge to her voice giving me the idea that if she thinks too hard about what she saw, she might loose it. "All that matters is that – that it's _over_."

And – I don't have what it takes to tell her that it's anything_ but_ over. Sure, they've got Collins, but he was just the tip of the ice burg and I really am beginning to believe my own line of bull shit. Collins was sent in alone like that because Suarez (and therefore De Jesus – who I've never even met, by the by) knew I'd fucking smoke his brains out. At a worse case scenario, Collins would kill me, and one of their problems would still be out of the way, because somehow I've done _something_ that's really rubbed these guys the wrong fucking way… Maybe they're just pissed because I didn't die like I was supposed to… I don't know. All that really matters is that eventually they'll come at me again. And with my luck, you just know it's going to be sooner rather than later.

"Jeff – "

That's Tonto. I 'look' in his direction. I'm really not up for dealing with him. I just want to sit with my girls a while, maybe curl and go to sleep for a real, real long time… wake up on the sofa to find out that this was just really one Hell of a fucked up dream… wake up to find Beth sitting next to me…

"About what I said earlier – " he begins. No, I didn't actually expect to get any peace, it was just wishful thinking.

"Let's keep the particulars between us," I favour him with one of those chilly little smiles. I have mentioned that I don't want to deal with this, right?

"Huh – oh no, of course. No, I just wanted to say that the offer's still open, that's all."

And – and if I'm feeling this drained, I can't begin to imagine how exhausted the girls must be. "Let me run it by these guys– "

"Run _what_ by us?" Emma wants to know. Yeah, she sounds a wee bit suspicious there…

"Ryan's offered to let you guys go home with him for the night – "

"**NO!"** That's Cicily (bet you needed me to tell you that, huh?) And I didn't really need that eardrum anyway – hearing's seriously over rated. So's breathing.

I manage to dislodge Cicily's arms from my neck just enough so I can speak, "It's just for one night, Sweetheart – "

"**NO** – you promised, you said you wouldn't leave us alone! Sheldon, please – _you promised_." That last is more of a whimper, "_Please_," she says again, burying her head into my shoulder. I don't really hear the crying – but she's shaking.

"I'm not leaving you, Sweetheart, I promise. I just need you to go with Ryan so I can – so I can sit with your mother while she sleeps – "

"Then I'll sit with her too."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

Good fucking question. "Because a hospital just isn't a good place for a little girl. But Ryan will take real good care of you." (And if you think that last statement might have sounded maybe a wee bit like a threat aimed in Tonto's direction – well, you're not imagining things there, amigos.) "You can come back tomorrow – after breakfast," I add, because I really don't want Cicily waking Tonto up at four in the morning because that constitutes 'tomorrow.'

"I don't _wanna_ leave – I wanna stay with you – please, you promised – "

"Shhhhh, I know," I shift us both a little so I can wipe her cheeks – yeah, she was crying – and brush the hair out of her face.

"Hey, you guys must be getting hungry," Tonto pipes up – he might think he's good with kids, but he's got it all wrong, at least for these two. "And I make some pretty mean chili dogs," he tells them in a sweet, nearly-condescending tone.

"I don't like chili dogs," Cicily informs him.

"Plain hot dogs are always good – "

"Do you have any idea what hot dogs are made of?" Emma inquires, proving to me that she is at least half her mother's child. (I had to hear more than one lecture on the evil of nitrates when Holly and me were together.)

Tonto, however, is undaunted, "We could always grab a pizza – you guys like pizza, right?"

"Yeah," says Cicily. "But we don't like the same things on it."

"I think we can work around that – " Tonto begins. "How about it – you can come back to my place, we'll order a pizza – and you guys can get some sleep – then I'll bring you back up here tomorrow morning, right after breakfast."

"But my pajamas and toothbrush are back at the house," Cicily says – I'm not sure if she's talking to me or Tonto. "And I don't wanna go back in there – and I can't go to sleep without brushing my hair and teeth. And we were just about to start a new story tonight," that last of course was aimed at me. And I swear if Tonto says one word…

"We can swing back by the house – I'll run in – " he begins.

"_I'll_ run in," Emma tells him.

"Em – " I really don't think I like that idea.

"I can't just leave Iggy, Bela and Erasmus."

"Emma – "

"Shelly," she retorts. "I can't leave them. _Please _– "

I turn my head towards Tonto, "Hope your landlord doesn't mind pets," I smile just a little. I wonder if he's starting to regret the offer – but I really can't separate my kid from her little zoo.

"It's – just for a night or two – it'll be fine," he says.

"I still don't wanna go," Cicily continues to protest, although it sounds like she knows she's beat.

I rearrange us both so I can wipe the moisture from her cheeks and brush some of the hair out of her face, "I know – but you have to. You can take Spencer with you," because they're not going to let me keep him here anyway. "Ok?"

She just sighs. I've won, but it doesn't feel like much of a victory. "I'm going to go put on that clean shirt Em brought me," I say to Cicily. "Then you're going to go home with Ryan and you'll see – it'll be better in the morning." Oh yeah, and every time I call him 'Ryan' it just sounds _wrong_. He's a fucking Tonto – but I really don't need the girls picking that up… Emma takes Cicily from my lap and I stand, motioning Tonto to follow me to the men's room.

After being assured that the coast is as clear as it sounds, I tell him to stand in front of the door so no one can come in – hey, have you ever tried to take off a shirt (a turtle neck no less) with glasses on? Thought so. And – as much as I hate this part, he's already seen, he knows… just the same, I tell him that he might not want to look.

"I meant it about being sorry for the way I reacted. That was totally out of line."

I just shrug, "It's not every day you see a man with no eyes." I give it another couple of seconds before reaching for the glasses – if Tonto looks away, he at least does it inaudibly. Just the same, I make the switch as quickly as possible, wondering if he's watching – or if maybe he averted his eyes so he didn't have to look at my face. Guess it doesn't really matter… "Ok, so a couple of things," I tell him. "The first of which is that you can stop patronizing Cicily."

"I wasn't – "

"You were. Just pretend she's not seven – that's how I manage. Most of the time she's kinda quiet anyway. So's Emma – unless she gets into a mood – which isn't likely to happen, but if it does, you don't have to put up with it." And my Christ, I sound just like a parent… oh this is too fucking scary… "There's one other thing you should know," I tell him in a more serious tone. "It – probably won't matter but – Beth has a husband who just might be looking for her – or Cicily. By all accounts, you do not want to tangle with the guy."

"She's – married –?"

"It's a long fucking story that I'm not going to tell you. Cicily barely remembers him – but – you just never fucking know, so don't sweat the details, just be advised of the situation."

There's a few seconds of silence before he answers: "I live in a secure building – no matter who tries to get at either of them, they'll be safe."

"Good man, that's just what I like to hear. But get Eddas to put a couple of people on your place anyway."

"I will – and – Jeff – "

"Don't start."

"I just – I don't even know what I want to say, I just feel like I should say _something_."

"How about you just say nothing and we call it good."

"Is it really good?"

"No." But I guess I appreciate what he's doing for the girls – I'm just not ready to tell him that… "However you can make it just a wee bit getter if you get someone to bring me my Vicodin."

"No problem."

…………………………………………………………….

_Ok, so I know the issue of Beth's recovery is still in question… and yeah, what a bombshell… it's been planned from the beginning, it was just a matter of timing (I write without any kind of real outline, just a rough idea of what's going to happen…) I'll try to get the next chapter up soon._

_Cheers and happy weekend!_

_Helen_


	47. Faith

**Thank you! **Wow really great reviews and two new reviewers/readers – what more could a writer ask for? Thanks guys!

……………………………….

**Chapter Forty Six:**

_Faith _

I'm sitting here trying to imagine what she looks like, just laying there, asleep… asleep just like she's been for the last five or six god damned hours. I sort of lost track of time between dozing and waking – but the last time I asked someone, it was almost two a.m. That someone was the nurse who brought me a blanket. I hadn't even noticed that the room was chilly until she mentioned it. Anna. She's one of the nicer nurses on this floor – she's the one who didn't make me move my chair so she could do whatever it was she had to do. She worked around me – so I tried to stay out of her way and even let go of Beth's hand so she could check something on that arm.

Anna sat with us a while – she told me I shouldn't let the fact that Beth hasn't woken up yet get to me, but I'm pretty sure she didn't really expect me to believe that I shouldn't be worried. And even though I said I wasn't hungry, Anna brought me some crackers with peanut butter and a carton of chocolate milk – maybe she's psychic too. I'm not sure how long ago that was, but I'm pretty sure it's still somewhere in the wee hours of the morning.

And I'm just sitting here in the dark, hanging onto the hand of an angel who may not even ever wake up… it doesn't even feel as if she's moved since I got here…

I turn my head so that I'm facing her, and I try to pretend I can see her, blond hair and tanned skin – those green eyes of her hers are closed. Her face is still – but she's beautiful…

"Maybe I _should_ do you the favour of getting the Hell out of your life. Maybe I should break that promise and just go kill that fuckmook you married, then head for the hills to spare you the grief of having to look at me everyday – but first – first I need you to wake to wake up and tell me you're going to be all right. I need to hear your voice one more time, Ange – then – then maybe I'll go away so you can have the kind of life you deserve, because you deserve the world and the only thing you're ever going to get from me is grief. But it _was_ good for a little while, wasn't it? Even with all the bullshit I put you through – it was at least a little bit good, for just a little while – right?" I give her hand a gentle squeeze. She doesn't respond… I really wasn't expecting her to. "I hope it was a little bit good for you, just for a little while, because it was so much more than just 'good' for me, Ange. It was fucking amazing. You are the most incredible woman – so much more than a fuckmook like me deserves. I don't know how I got you, even for a little while – but my Christ, I'm glad I did. You saved my life – you showed me – you showed me things I'd just forgotten all about. But we both knew it wouldn't really last this – this whatever it is we've been doing. Nothing good ever lasts, right?" Christ, everything inside aches… my head has stopped throbbing, thanks to the Vicodin, but – but everything else is just so empty…so black… so fucking, fucking cold… only it just won't go numb again. It's cold, but it's not numb. _Please don't die on me… please just wake up… just tell me you're going to be all right. I need to hear your voice… just one more time, I need to hear your voice… then I can go… _"You – you brought so much – happiness into my life. So much – _normal_. I think I'd honestly forgotten what it was to be that kind of happy, what it felt like to really look forward to getting up in the morning. What it was like to just have a cup of coffee and cigarette with someone – someone I really would have given anything to get to spend the rest of my life with –– I really do love you, Ange, even if you never believe it –" even if you could never love me…. But my voice just won't work any more, because my throat has constricted up too tight.

So I sit.

And I hold onto her hand because I'm afraid that if I let got, she might vanish, as if she never even existed… and who knows, maybe this whole thing is just the product of my deranged psyche. Alison isn't so far off the mark when it comes to my head. I never went after the neighbour's pets – but – I'm just not wired up like other people. I've never regretted that until now…

Darkness overtakes darkness – I recognize exhaustion for what it is and let it take me again. It hurts just a little less when I'm sleeping… and I'm not sleeping long enough at any one time to dream….

…… I become slowly conscious of my surroundings – not much has changed. There's a little more activity in the hall –

"Morning, Cowboy," says a voice that's little more than a hoarse little whisper.

I'm afraid to breathe – afraid to move. _Please let this be real…_

She squeezes my hand, very gently – no, nix that, it's not gentle, it's weak.

"I'm ok," she tells me. Her voice sounds anything but ok. "Cicily – ?"

"She's fine – she's fine, Ange."

"I knew she would be. I knew you'd find her – keep her safe."

And – she sounds so sure, too… "I'm sorry," I begin. Sorry seems so fucking lame – but what else is there?

"No – don't be."

"Ange – "

"Shhh – I'm ok, Shel. And – I had the strangest dream. It was really just a dream – but it was kinda nice."

"What – what was it?"

"You and me – we were sitting on this bridge – it's a place I used to play when I was a little girl, in Alabama. It was a perfect Southern spring day with clear blue skies and a bright sun – but there are trees all around, so it's not really beating down on us, it just makes the air feel warm."

I can't quite help but smile because I really can picture it in my head.

"It even smelled just the way I remember it, too," she continues. "Warm and wet and woodsy. Green. It smelled green. I was about seven – and you were like fifteen or sixteen – which I guess is about right, but kind of sick and wrong if you think about it," she laughs just a little – only it comes out sounding more like a strangled cough followed by a low moan of pain. "I'm ok," she assures me, before I've even gotten up, "That just hurt."

"I should – get a nurse – or something – " because I really don't know what to do.

"Doctor will be in soon – it's seven – morning rounds. Nurses are changing over – and there's nothing they can do but tell me it's good to see me awake and ask me how I feel."

"How do you feel?"

"I got hit with a BB pellet when I was eight – this is about a thousand times worse."

"I guess that's about right."

She chuckles – it sounds just a little bit more like a laugh.

"So – what were we doing in this dream of yours?" I ask – the more I hear her voice, the more I'm beginning to believe that she's really ok. That this isn't a dream.

"Just sitting – dangling our feet over the edge of the bridge – yours were long enough to touch the water, but mine weren't. Mine never were. We were eating boiled peanuts – sharing a bag. I remember that my hair was done in these two long braids – I used to wear my hair long when I was little, but only my mother could get it into braids. When I looked up at you and you just smiled – that cute little smile of yours. Even though I was just seven, I thought you were kind of sexy."

I laugh, just a little. My angel has a very warped imagination, but do I like the image of us sitting together like that (although I'm not real fond of boiled peanuts. Some things are an acquired taste and as much as she's a Southern girl at heart, I am definitely a Yankee…) The only thing I don't want to know is if she dreamed me with eyes or big gaping holes…

"You had your hair tied back into a pony tail," Beth continues, "And you had this little mustache thing going and just a little bit of a scraggly beard. And – you were wearing a yellow gingham shirt that was so awful – come to think of it, you really would wear a yellow gingham shirt, wouldn't you?"

I laugh a little harder and – and – and – this really_ is_ real – only that is just so fucking overwhelming – it's the only thing I've wanted and – and –

"Shhhh – Sheldon – I'm really ok," she gives my hand a little tug to bring me to my feet, which is the only way I can really get closer to her. "I'm ok, I'm here," she tells me in probably the strongest voice she can muster (it's not real strong.)

I press her palm to my lips because I'm honestly afraid to lean over and kiss her – but – but this is good – oh Christ, she's really right here. She's here and she's alive and she's awake…

"Just please tell me you're not really going to leave me now."

"What?" Did she hear me? Or is she just – just doing that thing of hers again?

"I know how you think, Sheldon. And right now you're thinking that Cicily and I would be better off without you – safer – "

"You _would_ be safer without me."

"My mother died in a grocery store parking lot because some idiot was drunk at nine o'clock in the morning – what makes you think your leaving will keep me safe from – from something like that?"

"That was just – random. What happened yesterday was because of _me_. You'll never be safe as long as I'm around."

"The only that that'll happen if you leave is that – that my heart will break – and so will my daughter's. And – if you don't really want this, ok, _that's_ not enough reason for you to stick around – but if you_ do_ – "

"I just don't want anything to ever happen to either of you because of me," I pull back just a little, realizing that – that there is dampness on my cheeks and it's coming from – from what used to be eyes – only – it doesn't feel like blood…

"This isn't the first time I've seen you cry," she tells me very quietly.

I open my mouth – but nothing really comes out. I just – I don't know what to say… I haven't cried since I was ten.

"There were a couple of times, back in Mexico – you'd wake up, shaking – crying. Then – that day after your sister got through with you, when you took that walk and I had to come out and find you because – because I was afraid you'd just keep walking and be too damned proud – or vain or stubborn – to admit you'd gotten lost."

"I didn't realize – " oh fuck me, but I really didn't realize. I wipe the remaining moister from my face – I didn't even think I could…

"I know. I didn't want to say anything because – you are proud. And – maybe just a little bit vain."

I have to smile at that one. I'm more than a little vain and I think we both know it. (My insides are all in knots over here, though. I want to go – I need to go, to let go – that's what they say you're supposed to do if you really love someone, right? If you love them let them go… but I need her in my life. I _want_ her there. I don't want to leave…) I feel Beth's hand on mine and I let myself hold her – Christ, but I do love her…

"Please – please don't go away just because you're afraid of me getting hurt."

"Beth – you were shot in the chest – you almost – you almost died," that last is just barely a whisper because saying that word out loud really fucking hurts. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you."

"Than think about what I'd do to me if you walked out on me now."

"I wouldn't leave you while you were still laid up – " I would never walk out on here like this… _no fuckmook, you'd wait until she was better and then ditch and run…_

"You know what I mean. Think about what I'd feel like if you walked out on me just because you didn't want me getting hurt. _Please_, Sheldon – please say we haven't come this far just to – to lose it now."

"Why would you even believe me –?" After everything I've put her through, after all the bullshit, all the grief, all the fucking pain, why would she believe a single word that came out of my mouth?

"I told you. I trust you. I believe you. I believe_ in_ you."

And – and I don't get the chance to respond to that, because I hear footsteps coming in the door. It's Dr. Reynolds (he doesn't announce himself, but he begins with 'good morning' and I recognize his voice.) He seems very pleased to see Beth awake – and not at all pleased to see me. (Now ask me if I care.)

Reynolds puts himself on the other side of the bed and introduces himself to Beth – I'm not real ready to let go of her hand, though, so I stay right where I am while they get through the pleasantries.

"How long have you been awake?" He asks her.

"I woke up around six."

But when I woke up she told me it was almost seven – so – so she was awake – and she just let me sleep…

"How much of yesterday do you remember?" Reynolds asks. (He still sounds fucking condescending to me.)

"Everything up until the bullet hit."

He just sighs, probably nods. "So how are you feeling?"

"Other than the obvious, all right. I'm a nurse," she adds. "So that makes me both a good patient and a bad one."

"Oh?"

"I'm not going to exaggerate anything – and I'm going to understand everything you're not telling me as well as everything you do say."

There's a wee bit of silence on his end…

"I've been awake for over an hour, doctor – you don't think I've noticed that I can't quite wiggle my toes?"

She… can't… oh Christ… I feel like my own legs are about to give out… only sitting down would mean letting go of her and I'm just not ready to do that…

"The bullet lodged near your spine," Reynolds says in a decidedly professional tone. "I recovered it with minimal complications – but – there's been some damage."

"How – much – damage?" I recognize the sound of my voice, but I'm not really quite aware of the fact that I've spoken.

Beth gives my hand a little squeeze, but it sounds more like she's talking to Reynolds than to me: "Everything torso up seems fine and I think I can feel my feet – but I know about phantom 'pain.' It doesn't hurt, but I know what I think I'm feeling could be all in my head," she tells him – and I'm listening to this but – but it feels like I'm this spectator watching a play because it she's way too fucking calm – and – and she didn't fucking say _anything _to me about not being able to wiggle her toes… (and yeah, that makes me angry – I'm not even sure why, but it does. She should have told me… only I know how she thinks, too. If she'd told me, she knew I wouldn't have even _considered_ leaving her, not… like this… not… Christ, I can't even _think_ the word… and it's all my fault…)

I hear Reynolds move around to the end of the bed – he asks her if she can feel this – this – this – this – this… Beth answers alternately in the negative or positive – only I can't fucking see, so I don't know if she's feeling him touch her feet or just imagining that she is. And this is really _all my fault_… why the fuck does she even want me around?

"All right – I want you to try and push against my hand – good. Now the other foot – good."

(Good – fucking good? What the does fucking _good_ mean? Oh this just isn't happening…)

"Try moving your left foot – now the right – good. Do you feel this – ?"

"That tickles," she sounds like she's close to squirming – her knees. Christ – she can still feel her knees. But… but she can't move her toes…

"Good. How about that – ?"

"Yes – but not as much – I feel pressure – but – I don't really 'feel' anything. Weight – no sensation."

"All right –"

"So ah – anybody want to clue in the blind guy?" I finally can't keep quiet any longer.

"It's better than I would have expected," Reynolds says, moving back to the other side of her. "As soon as you feel up to it, I'm going to get a physical therapist in to see you." Of course that's directed at Beth.

"The sooner the better," she tells him. "What do you honestly think the outlook is?"

He sighs again – I really don't like that. "It'll take time, and a lot of work," her says. (His tone doesn't exactly sound encouraging, either.) "But I'd say that maybe eight, ten months of really hard work – you can expect sixty to seventy percent mobility – in a year, maybe as much as eighty percent. I wouldn't expect more than that, though."

I think I'm really ready to fall over – but she's just calm. "That's fair enough."

_Fair enough… how can that be fair enough…?_

"Good – if you think you're up to trying to keep something down, I'll start you out on clear liquids – maybe bump it up to softs tomorrow if you do all right today."

"Sounds good," she tells him, giving my hand another little squeeze. It really doesn't help me feel any better about any of this.

"I've got you on an epidural for the pain – but I'd like to get that out in the next couple of days – I probably don't have to tell you that the sooner we get you onto oral pain killers and up and moving as much as possible, the better." (Yeah, Reynolds is pretty much ignoring me, all right.)

"I know the drill, doc – I've done some PT work – so – like I said, I'm both a very good patient – and a really rotten one." (Beth is ignoring me too, except for that little squeeze to my hand.)

He chuckles just a little, "I'll order your breakfast and see about stopping back in around lunch time – and don't be afraid to hit the call button if you need anything. Mr. Sands – " he probably does something idiotic like nod in my direction, then exits himself from the room, at which point I fall back into that chair.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Beth tries to tell me (yeah, like I'm buying _that_.)

"Why the Hell didn't you say something – you know I can't see – "

"Even if you could see, you wouldn't have known if I didn't tell you."

Which of course is true… however, "You should have told me."

She doesn't get a chance to reply to that before someone comes in – I just sit there while the person (young, male) arranges stuff – it sounds like all he's brought is a pitcher of water and a plastic cup – but Beth is more than happy to have it – she didn't even bother to tell me that she was thirsty. But – I guess I really am pretty fucking useless to her, huh? (How much use could I be…? And this is all my fault... if she hadn't gotten involved with me… my Christ, she really may never walk again… even if she isn't angry at me now, how long will it really be before she resents me for this? How long will it be before she wakes up one morning and tells me that she hates me?)

Moment's later another young man (or maybe the same one, I can't tell) arrives with her 'breakfast' (I've been on clear liquid hospital 'food' – it's about as appetizing at it sounds.) I just sit there and listen as she drinks her breakfast, wondering what I'm really going to do because even if I haven't lost her yet, I know it's only a matter of time…

"Exactly how long are you planning on sulking over there?" Beth asks me at last. It sounds like she's finished with her liquid meal.

"I'm not sulking."

"Like Hell you aren't."

"Ange – you can't move your feet – can you even move your legs?" And it's my fault…

"You didn't pull the trigger, Sheldon."

"No – I just put you in front of the gun," there's this real angry edge to my voice – it isn't really directed at her – it's the whole fucking universe I'm mad at. "You also didn't answer my question, Darlin'," I add. Ok, on that score I am a little mad at her. She _knows_ I couldn't see anything that the doc was doing to her; she knows just how in the dark I am over here and how fucking lost that makes me feel. She knows I can't stand uncertainty.

"I can move them a little – more the right than the left. But if you think for one second I'm not going to walk again – "

"Sixty percent mobility?"

"Or more."

"But _not _one hundred percent." My Christ, she'll never _really_ walk again – she'll never be able to have a garden or – or do any of the things I'm sure she must love doing. And it's really all my fault…

"So is _that_ it? You don't want to get stuck with a cri– "

"_Don't you **fucking dare**_ – " and I regret my tone the instant those words are out of my mouth, but damn it, I _know_ what she was about to say. I'm not even sure if it's the word, or the very real hurt I heard in her voice just then – or maybe it's just that I can't believe she thinks I'd run out on her just because – because she'll never _really_ walk again (sixty percent mobility…? How can anyone call that walking?) "Don't you _dare_ use that fucking word," I finally finish in a tone that's only slightly less hostile than the one I started with.

"Just – just get out of here for a little while, ok? Go get some air – take a walk and blow off some steam or something, before we both say anything _else_ we're going to regret." (She sounds kinda pissed too…)

"Blowing off some steam would entail blowing someone's fucking head off – probably the first God damned person I run into." And I'm not kidding here, amigos. I really want to kill someone and I'm not real sure I care who (although there are a couple of people near the top of that list, I just don't expect to have the good fortune to run into any of them in the next fifteen minutes… but a man can have his fantasies.)

"Look – Shel – I get it that you're pissed at me – "

"I'm not pissed at_ you_. I'm pissed at **_me_**. I should never have put you in a position where something like this could happen – and don't go back to what happened to your mother. That was different – that was just random. This wasn't."

"I know that. But you are pissed at me."

"Only for thinking that I could ever run out on you because – because of _this_."

"I'm sorry."

"Ange – I wouldn't just ditch and run on you – "

"It's _not _going to be an easy recovery. Even sixty percent is – is going to be an uphill battle, believe me. But I am going to walk again. It's just that the truth is I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to stick around for it – but I don't want you sticking around _just_ because you feel like it's your fault and so you _have_ to stay. I kind of feel damned if I do and damned if I don't right now, because I don't want you to leave but I don't want you sticking around for the wrong reasons, either."

"How about I just stick around because I want to?"

"It's_ really_ not going to be easy."

"I don't care. Look, I can be a real fuckmook sometimes – I'm a guy, it just comes natural. And I really_ do_ think you'd be better off if you told me just – just exit stage left and never come back – but I'm kinda glad you haven't." _So far…_

"Only kind of glad?" she asks – but I'm real sure she's smiling.

"More than kind of glad, Ange," I reach down and find her hand – and she doesn't hesitate or shy away from my touch. "I know what I was thinking – what I said – but the truth is that I don't know if I _could_ leave, even if maybe I know I should."

"No, you shouldn't," she pulls my hand to her lips and gives it a little bit of a kiss. "But we can only get through this –_ I_ can only get through it – if you stop blaming yourself and just – just understand that it's going to be a really, really hard year. And you're not allowed to treat me like I'm going to break."

"Not allowed, huh?" I manage a real smile.

"Not allowed. I don't want sympathy any more than you do – it won't help. And – this time next year, you're going to take me dancing."

"What if I don't know how to dance?"

"Than you've got a whole year to learn."

I lean in very carefully and brush my lips against her forehead; Beth holds me there for a moment – and as much as I really wish I could just feel all of her against me, this does feel good. "You really don't know how afraid I was that I'd lost you," I whisper to her.

"Yes I do. I was never really afraid, you know."

"You weren't?"

"No. I knew – I just knew. I knew you'd keep Cicily safe – and I knew I'd wake up and wherever I was, you'd be there with me. I think I knew you were with me even when I was still out."

"How do you do that?"

"What, have faith?"

"Have faith in somethingbesides one more screw-over."

"You know Milo had nothing to do with what happened yesterday," Bethtells me– and yeah, that is just exactly what I was thinking about.

And I just smile at my little p-sycic. "I know." I really do. I know I jumped tothat conclusion – but I'm having a fuck of a hard time making myself he couldreally have done anything that would hurt Beth and the girls. I don't even think he could have done anything that would hurt me, not like this, anyway. He's stuck his neck out too far, been too much of a – of a friend. (Yeah, I spent a good deal of last night dissecting every conversation me and Milo have ever had, too…) And I know what that means: if he didn't sell me out…

I feel Beth shake her head, "I don't think so, Shel."

"Sweetheart – those are the _only_ two cards on the table here. If he didn't tell them where to find us – you – and he didn't call to warn me that Collins had left the stage, there just isn't any other option."

"Sure there is. You just don't want to think about it."

And – I she's right about that too. I really don't want to think about Milo in a dark little room somewhere…

Beth puts her armsgingerlyaround my neck (I can feel where she's got an IV stuck in) and pulls me in just a little closer. I just hold her. Ormaybe she's holding me.

…………………………………………………..

The kiss sweetest  
And touch so warm  
The smile kindest  
In this world so cold and strong  
So close to the flame  
Burning brightly  
It won't fade away  
And leave us lonely  
The arms safest  
And words all good  
The faith deepest  
In this world so cold and cruel  
So close to the flame  
Burning brightly  
It won't fade away  
And leave us lonely

– Him –

("Close to the Flame")


	48. Ramifications

Sorry this update took sooooo long – I started back to school this semester and I'm just one (Russian) and it is kicking my butt! I have more respect than I thought for non-English speakers who write in English when their own language has such a different alphabet.

**Thank you, Sands-Agent for the birthday wishes!** I had a nice quiet day w/ my husband (we went to see _The Lion the Witch and the Wardrob_e… and would you believe my husband has a thing for Tilda Swinton? Talk about out of the blue… ;) But he puts up with my Johnny Depp screen saver (my daughter counted 73 images on it) so it's not like I'm complaining... she is just so not his usual 'type.'

**And thank you to everyone else who has reviewed!** I truly, truly appreciate it. I promise that the next chapter won't be so long in coming!

**Chapter Forty Seven:**

_Ramifications _

Beth and I sit for a while holding hands, her in the bed and me in the chair; neither of us is really talking. I don't have anything useful to say and even though she's only been awake for a little while, I can tell Beth is exhausted. I've been shot enough times to understand… but every once in a while, she squeezes my hand or moves her thumb in a caress and I smile over at her and imagine she's smiling back. I really could spend the rest of my life with this woman – and that, my friends scares the shit out of me, because – because I just don't have that kind of luck. It's not just those God damned gypsies I must have pissed off in some former life, it's me. My life. My choices. Guys like me don't get the girl… but here she is. At least for right now, here she is…

"Why don't you go get some air," Beth's voice cuts into my thoughts. (I'd thought she was asleep over there, she's been still for so long…) "You need it, Cowboy," she adds when I don't move right away, "I promise, I'll still be here when you get back."

And – even though I know what she really means (that she's not going to vanish if I let go of her hand), I can't help but wince. Beth couldn't leave this room if she wanted to, not without someone to push her out of here in a wheelchair. My angel… my beautiful, vibrant, full-of-life angel, and she's going to be confined to a wheelchair, maybe for the rest of her life – just thinking about it makes me sick. And it's all my fault… all my fucking fault for putting her where she could get hurt like this…

"Shel, I'm not afraid."

"How can you not be?"

"I guess the only way to explain it is that I have faith in myself. I have faith in my body to heal – I have faith in the fact that I'm really just as stubborn as you are," she's smiling, I can hear it in her voice – but honestly, I'm having a real hard time smiling back at her. Beth goes on: "I have faith in you, too, you know."

"Why?" why the fuck would anyone have faith in me? _How_ could anyone have faith in me?

"Someone has to."

Yeah, she's hit the nail on the head there… but still, "Ange – all the faith in the world won't – " it just won't make her walk again. She's a nurse, she has to know that.

"Tell me something – after you were shot – after – Guevara – why did you keep going? Hermano told me about how you had him guide you to the centre of the city – and about a rather spectacular gun fight – although I suspect he may have exaggerated a bit."

What does _that _have to do with anything I wonder… but, I guess owe her a little indulgence. I owe her everything. "Honest answer is that I just don't know. I don't know what was going through my head or what I hoped to accomplish – I just felt like I had to accomplish _something._ I couldn't let it all go to shit on me like that. I couldn't just curl up and die in the street. Why?"

"What makes you think I'm any less determined than you must have been, then?"

"I was pumped full of God knows what." _And I'm a vain little prick. _I couldn't go down without a fight, my pride just wouldn't allow it. But fuck if I really have any idea what I was thinking; I was just sort of operating on instinct there. Get to the centre of town and – and do fucking _something_.

"I won't go down without a fight either, Cowboy. It's not pride it's just – I don't feel like there's any other choice. I_ will_ walk again – I have to. How can you even begin to believe that – that I should just accept not walking, just because some doctor doesn't have the same faith in me as I have in myself?"

Her words cut right through, let me tell you. I don't think I've ever heard Beth so – harsh. I do feel a little ashamed of myself for not believing in her on this one, I just don't see how it's possible. All I can see (in my head, that is) is her in a wheel chair. "I guess I'm just a pessimist by nature."

"No arguments there. Now go on and get out of here for a little while – you really do need to get some fresh air. I'll be fine on my own, honest."

I guess – maybe she needs to be away from me for bit. I suppose I don't blame her. And – I _could_ use a cigarette. I don't think it'll help – but – yeah. Smoking would be good. I give Beth's hand just a bare brush of a kiss and leave the room wondering if she really will stay with me after this… but I have to make myself believe that she will. I have to believe that someday she might love me the way I love her… maybe. Even if she only loves me a little bit, I'll take it – I'll take whatever she has to give a prick like me, because I don't think she realizes that she's already given me more than I ever thought I'd have. She's given me the world.

Now all I have to do is figure out how to keep it.

I don't quite remember getting from Point A to Point B last night, but stopping a couple of times to get directions, I make my way to the main entrance and park my ass onto a bench to have a much needed cigarette. I can barely remember the last time I went this long between smokes… and that memory is about as unwelcome as anything else, because it involves me and Milo and a small dark room… and… if he didn't sell me out and he's not dead… Beth is right. There's another very possible possibility and I don't fucking like it. I just don't know what to do.

Part of me wants to charge to the rescue – but where would even start looking. How would I fucking _look _at all. And you saw how useful Tonto was at a little B & E; he does not have the mettle for any serious "antics." I don't have any choice but to just sit on my fucking hands and let someone else do the looking, let someone else be the cavalry (not that I've ever actually _been_ the cavalry… but it might have been nice to have been the good guy just once in my life.)

I'm half way through my second cigarette when I hear very familiar little feet running in my direction. I barely have time to ditch my smoke before Cicily is crawling into my lap – and let me tell you, it feels good to have her there. Somehow – somehow I don't feel quite so fucking useless when I wrap my arms around her and she snuggles in close like she's doing right now. She smells like her mother's shampoo – and – hmm, must be something from Tonto's pad, but it's still welcome. Warm. Everything about Cicily is warm.

"I missed you last night," she tells me.

"I missed you too, Sweetheart, very, very much. And I've got some good news," although there's still this fucking cold knot in the pit of my stomach, if I really think about it too hard.

"Mama?" Cicily asks hopefully – but she doesn't let go of me.

"She's awake."

Cicily just – she just hugs me. Tight. And I hug her right back – because this – this is just _good_.

Emma sits down next to me then; that's good too. She smells of freesia and leather and comfortable old flannel (yeah, what a combination, huh?) And I can smell Tonto's aftershave a little ways away off (I think I'm going to have to have a word with him about that crap – introduce him to something a little more – adult. Sorry if any of you all out there like that shit, but when I think of Aqua Velva, I think of the first aftershave I ever used, when I was about… well, never mind. You get the idea.) And at any rate, it seems as if Tonto's hanging back a little, giving us space. Giving _me_ space. Smart boy – smart, smart boy… Em lays her head on my shoulder and slides her arm into mine without disturbing Cicily.

"How're you holding up?" I ask my kid.

"I'm – ok. I had kind of a melt down last night. Everything just – caught up to me, I guess."

But – she's still here, leaning into me… "I'm sorry, Em. You shouldn't have had to witness that." And it occurs to me (way fucking belatedly) that she's not the only one who saw what I did to Collins. Cicily might not have witnessed the act, but she heard him shrieking, she saw the blood, the hole in his head, where he used to have an eye… What the Hell have I done here – and why are they both still here, right here, holding onto me? (Maybe I'd be doing them all a favour if I just headed for the fucking hills…)

"I'm ok now," Emma tells me, although her tone tells me that she's not really ok at all. But she is hanging onto me. Despite what she saw me do – she's still – she's not afraid of me. "I – I grabbed a change of cloths for you too," she tells me then. "And – some of your personal stuff."

Personal stuff… I have a feeling she's not just talking about my toothbrush here. "Thanks, Kiddo."

"I left your bag back at Ryan's – I thought you might – you know want a shower or something today. The condo's still a mess."

"What are they gonna do with that man?" Cicily wants to know.

Oh talk about something I don't want to discuss… but I think (I hope) she's just asking if they're going to lock Collins up and throw away the key… "He's – he's never going to hurt you or anyone else again." I tell her in a tone that sure as fuck hope is reassuring. I really do not know how to talk to children.

"I knew you'd come back for us," Cicily tells me then in a real quiet voice. "But – I was scared it wouldn't be in time, for my Mama to be ok."

"Shhh – it's over now," I smooth her hair back away from her face a little. Yeah, I don't think either of the girls had a very good night last night… I don't think either of them is going to have a real good night for quite some time. "It's over and everything's going to be ok, now." _Your mother can't walk – but – _but fuck me because it really _is _all my fucking fault –

"I'm sorry – " Cicily begins.

"For what?" There's nothing in the world she needs to be sorry about.

"For being afraid."

"Oh Sweetie – " I stop myself. Talking to Cicily like she's a little kid isn't going to help. She is, for all that she really is a little kid, _not_ a little kid. She's seen too much – been through too much – to be treated like some sheltered suburban child. "I was scared too, you know."

"You were?"

"I was real scared. I was scared when I walked in the door and realized that you and your mom weren't there – and I was scared when I found your mom and she wasn't awake." _Small words, Sands – she's a kid – she's not a kid, but she's still a kid and she's still scared… _I really am not cut out for this.

"Mama gets scared sometimes – she just doesn't ever want me to know."

"Grown ups are funny," I tell her (that gets just the wee-est bit of a chuckle out of the fruit of my loom – although she does a fair job of muffling it.) "But – what really matters is that your mom's awake – and she would probably love to see you." Because let me tell you, much more of this and I'm going to need another cigarette – only I just will not smoke with a kid in my lap. Fuck me – there is a kid in my lap. Ok, ok, so it's not the first time – but it's just one of those things that continues to boggle my mind (and if the Company is still survailing me, I hope to God they're getting this on video tape, because _no one_ is going to believe it otherwise.) I give Emma Beth's room number and listen to the girls make their retreat – Tonto hangs back a bit.

"So how is she, really?" He parks himself on the bench, not quite next to me.

I get that cigarette I've been craving lit before telling him _she's awake_. I'm really not ready to go into details with anyone, least of all Tonto.

There's a bit of silence on his end (it doesn't last nearly long enough…) "Jeff – about yesterday –"

"Are you really that suicidal?" I ask the kid point blank.

"Come on – I'm serious."

"And what makes you think I'm not?" I snarl back at him. "Those water-cooler rumours aren't so far off the mark – or have you really forgotten how I almost blew your fucking head off that first night?" Yeah, I'm in a fuck of a mood all right…

"You weren't lucid."

Fuck. Just – just fuck. Fucking fuck, even. "Look – I appreciate you taking care of my girls last night, but that is about the _only_ thing keeping you from pushing up daisies right about now, so don't push it."

"So – this is a – a bad time to try and talk you into reconsidering – "

"There won't _ever_ be a good time for that little discussion, Kemo Sabe. Even if you hadn't landed that little bomb on my head, you're not cut out to deal with me. Why would you even want to? Or does it all just boil down to – to some twisted notion that blood is more viscous than good ol' H2O?" I take a long drag off my smoke. The nicotine isn't helping at all.

"Maybe," he admits. "But that doesn't mean that I'll ever expect any kind of – special consideration – "

"Good – you'll never get any, not from me or anybody else. The rest of the world isn't Mayberry."

Apparently he gets the reference, "I wasn't that sheltered growing up."

"Coulda fooled me. Come to think of it, you did fool me – you really had me going the whole time, because I never, ever would have guessed – " never would have guessed that we have something so fucking intimate in common… I think that headache is starting to come back...

"I wasn't trying to fool you, Jeff, I just knew this might be the only chance I'd have to meet you, the only way I'd ever get to know you, at least a little. I'm really not a deceitful person – and – and I understand that you're angry with me. I _am_ sorry. I only wanted to know more about – about the rest of my family."

(I think I may be getting ill over here – or maybe I just need me some hip waders. Sad thing is, Tonto honestly sounds sincere – he's not laying it on thick, he's laying it on the line, all up front and honest like. _Just _what I need… I cannot believe we both fell off the same tree.)

"You've got your sister – you _knew_ your father. I don't even have a photograph and my mother won't tell me anything about him. Can't you even _begi_n to understand how frustrating that's been for me? Everyone else who knows anything just – just treated the whole thing the same way your sister did – they all slammed the door in my face. All I was looking for was some answers – some – contact."

"What about – whatever his name is, Wifey-Pooh numero doce's kid – ?"

"Arnie. He just wants someone to talk to – and I don't mind. I feel sorry for him because none of the rest of his family will have anything to do with him, and he's really a sweet guy."

"For a felon."

"It's not like he's some kind of hardened criminal or anything, he didn't kill anybody – er – "

I just smirk and wave Tonto onwards when it becomes obvious that he realizes he's eating his knees over there. If he only knew what my body count really looks like (and that's_ not_ counting the causalities of all those little wars I've either started or fueled, because I have no way to accurately tally those. But if you look at that last little escapade down in Mexico, you've got – let's see, a cook, a matador, a fucking clumsy waitress, Belini of course – those two fuckmooks outside the central building – oh yeah and that first guy – and Ajedrez – fucking bitch – sorry. I'm still really sore about that. And I guess it's fair to lay Barillo on me since I set it up – I'll take the credit for Guevara and Marquez too, even if once again I didn't pull the trigger – I_ did_ pull the strings. And that was just in – what – three days, I think – ? While it's unfair to call that_ typical_ – it certainly isn't unusual. The only reason I haven't done more damage since I've been back stateside is because – well, this just isn't Mexico and there's a big difference between being a wee bit of a sociopath and being just plain crazy. Only a truly crazy person goes around killing people when and where he's likely to get caught, because getting caught is just no fun at all.)

"Anyway," Tonto goes on, "Arnie isn't not much older than I am and – and he never really knew his father either. You're the only one – at least the only one who'll talk to me."

I do notice that Tonto is being very careful not to say 'our' father – I guess I have to give the kid a little credit on that score. He's figured out just how tender the subject really is. (And you'll notice I pretty much never use the word 'father' at all. I'm sure once upon a time, I might have thought of my old man that way, but that ended a fuck of a long time ago.) And of course, Tonto is still yammering:

"Do you really not understand how important this really is to me – ?"

"No, I don't get it at all," I tell him honestly. Really – I don't. I don't get it why Em ever wanted to meet me either, but I know she did. "But – what the fuck ever, right? You met me. You got to know me. You got to see for yourself just what kind of a twisted, insane little prick I_ really_ am. Bully for you. Now would you _please_ just fuck off already? Go back to your happy little life and – and **leave me alone**." _Why is that such an unreasonable request?_

"Is there anything I can say to get you to reconsider? All I'm asking is for you to listen to me, Jeff – just hear what I have to say, that's all – then – then just do whatever you want – just listen to me first."

"Are you really going to give me a _choice_?" I take a long drag off my smoke. It really is a good thing I'm not armed with anything more dangerous than my wit right now, because I swear if I was this kid would end up worm food just on principal alone.

"I just – I want to make a difference, that's all. I know I'll never see the inside of a courtroom. I don't think I have to tell you I'd be a lousy prosecutor. I wouldn't make much of a defense attorney either – I don't have what it takes to stand up in front of a jury and argue a criminal case – I don't have your – charisma."

"Do _not _blow smoke up my ass, Kid," there's a real warning in my tone that time. I _hate_ fucking brown nosers. (Chet Wheaton was a brown noser – most bullies are.)

"I didn't mean it that way. I'm just saying that – that I'm not a guy who would do well in front of a jury. I freeze up in front of people – and I just don't get the impression that you're at all shy."

Ok, that does get a little bit of a smirk from me – and a reprieve for him. (Of course, the funny thing is that I used to be shy – or at least a whole lot more quiet… but I think I'll keep that little tidbit to myself. Most people wouldn't buy it anyway, not even for a quarter.)

"My teachers all tried to talk me into corporate law, because most of that is drawing up and looking over paperwork – even when corporate attorneys go to court, it's never – it's just not like criminal law. It's almost always cut and dried, black and white, nice and simple."

Sounds just about his speed…

"I don't want to get stuck in the back of a file room looking up old case law to help someone else build his or her case. I want to _do_ something – something useful, something that will really make a difference. I want to be the guy who – who brings down the bad guys."

Christ, is that a fife and drum core I hear playing the background? Might as well be. "All very noble, I'm sure – but just what the fuck does any of that have to do with _me_?" _I** am** the bad guy…_

"I know I'm no good in the field – but I can get better. I can learn – you could teach me. I meant what I said about enjoying working with you – and not just because of – of all that other stuff, I swear. I would have enjoyed working with you even if – if there wasn't – that. It's not the real reason I'm asking for a second chance and I am so sorry if anything I said or did was out of line. I just want you to know that I'm willing to work as hard as I have to on this. You're an incredible agent – a little challenging at times – but that's what makes you, you – and you're really someone I could learn so much from. Please – just – _think_ about it before brushing me off."

Maybe I should start calling him Toto instead of Tonto, because he's starting to sound just like an eager little puppy over there. "Look – you really are a swell kid and all – but what makes you think I'm even planning on sticking around myself? Just in case you didn't pick up on it, I'm not exactly a people person. I don't play well with others – and I don't like anything about this city."

"I guess – I just hoped you would. Or at least that you might consider giving me another chance for as long as you are around. I'll give you one hundred and ten percent – "

"What makes you think I might want even _one_ percent from you? Or half a percent? Was there maybe something in the warm reception you got from my sister that gave you the impression **_I_** might be that much more receptive to having a constant reminder of my old man's inability to keep his dick in his shorts hanging around_ my_ neck? Why would I want that?"

"I guess when you put it that way – I'm sorry, Jeff. I didn't mean to aggravate old wounds. You're right, of course – there's no reason you'd want me around – and every reason to want me to just get lost."

I wave aside his words (and the fact that yes, I have really popped his little red balloon over there.) "There aren't any wounds _to_ aggravate – there aren't any real memories for me to pass along either. The fucker split when I was six. Al was two. That is the last time that I actually saw him face to fucking face." Although I do believe my tone may have just given away the fact that yeah, there are wounds all right, and they're about as deep as the fucking Grand Canyon. Greg Sands left us high and dry to go play house with his secretary, and about the only things he's ever given me are his name and a predisposition to be a real prick.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." And realizing that my fingers are getting a bit toasty there where I'm holding my cigarette, so I toss it to the ground near my feet and tromp out the butt. Fuck me. I need a drink. A big, stiff, one – don't really care what, either, just make it big. Fucking enormous. Gigantic even… and just about then my stomach rumbles loud enough to tell me that I could also use some food.

"You want – to maybe – get some breakfast?" Tonto asks, kinda cautiously.

This kid really doesn't know when to quit, does he? (Maybe it's just the ol' Mayberry congeniality – I'll bet this kid was a Boy Scout when he was younger.) "Just don't expect me to reconsider anything – and do not expect me to get warm and fuzzy on you," I advise in a tone I'm pretty sure conveys exactly what I'm thinking. "I appreciate you putting up the girls last night – but all you're going to get out of me for that is a thank you."

"I wouldn't expect any more than that. I didn't do it for any other reason than – than it was just the right thing to do."

Oh fuck me, he really was a Boy Scout, I'd bet my last cigarette on it. "How about you just direct me to the nearest chow – and maybe shut up for about ten minutes while you're at it." It's really not him, but my head is starting to throb. Well – ok, maybe it's a little bit him – but mostly it really is everything else. Beth. Milo. The fact that I really haven't eaten since Anna brought me those crackers and peanut butter sometime last night. I have way too much blood in my caffeine system – and – fuck me, but I share a serious amount of DNA with this Boy Scout from fucking Mayberry and that is enough to freak me right out over here – except that I have way bigger things to freak out about just now.

I mean – what _exactly_ is 'eighty percent' mobility? And that was only a maybe, there, amigos. _Maybe_ she'll only regain sixty percent mobility. So what – crutches? A walker? A wheel chair, but she'll be able to get herself in and out of it without needing too much help? She'll be able to dress herself – and – and take a fucking piss on her own. And she's _not_ going to resent me for this someday…? Right. Sure she won't – just like I don't resent Collins for setting me up to get my eyes drilled out of my head…

And I don't even want to think about Milo and how fucking useless I feel there, too. I know I can't do anything for Beth, I'm not a doctor – but I should be able to do something to bring him home –_ if_ he's really still alive… but what can a blind man do in the field? (I know, I know, I shot those fuckers that day – but I was so doped up, I don't know what I was even thinking – or _if_ I was thinking. I'm – I'm as useful as tits on a bull and I know it.)

Tonto gets me to the hospital cafeteria and manages to very succinctly walk me through the menu (something _else_ I can't do without assistance – read a God damned menu.) I'm not even real sure I can eat right now – but the rumbling in my gut isn't giving me much of a choice. "You got an antacids on you?" I ask my little seeing-eye human as we park ourselves into a little corner table.

"No – but – there's a gift shop – they might carry some – "

"Make it so, Number One."

He just stops mid-whatever-he was doing.

"What the fuck do you think they play at two o'clock in the morning in butt fucking Mexico?" I ask him. The answer is that they play the one thing that is universal: Star Trek. And a fuck of a lot of info-mercials… but a man can only watch those for so long before going a little buggy – I mean, really, how many sets of Ginsu knives do I really need? "And see if you can get me some cigarettes while you're at it – I'm about out. These are what I like," I hand him my very-nearly-empty pack, "But I'll take just about anything as long as it isn't mentol, girly or 'light.'"

"Girly?"

Right. Non smoker. "Those long fucking sticks with the flowers around the filer."

"Right. No menthol, no flowers and nothing marked light. I'm on it."

Christ on a crutch – but at least he's gone and if he's gone it means he's not running his mouth (at least not in my direction.) I really don't dislike the kid, he's just too fucking eager, (and I really don't think it has to do with that DNA we share. I think he'd be like this no matter who I was in relation to him... but you gotta admit, it's still pretty fucked up. The sister I've known all my life, the sister I protected and took care of, wants nothing to do with me – this kid – this kid can't seem to get enough of me… and maybe that's just because he _doesn't_ know me the way Al does…)

Fortunately for Tonto, by the time he returns, I've managed to force down most of my breakfast (I erred on the side of caution here and just got myself a Danish, coffee and a side of bacon. Hey – that's caution. Throwing it all to the wind would have meant go going for a full breakfast. Just the same, I think I need those antacids he'd better fucking have on him. I can do a world of hurt to a man with a cheap metallic utensil – just watch me.)

"Antacids – and cigarettes." Tonto sets each down in turn.

"Good boy," I mutter and swallow four chalky, fruit flavoured tablets. Fuck. "Next time no fruit," I wash them down with the last of my coffee. Blegh is right… but at least I don't have to stab him to death with my spoon.

"Sorry."

I just wave it aside, take the new pack of smokes from him and start tapping it down, to get the tobacco to settle.

"Um – Jeff – hospital – no smoking – "

"Right. Find me some place where I can smoke. And shouldn't you be toddling off to work by now?"

"I – thought – in case you needed anything – I'd – "

"Hang around." Just my luck.

"Just – in case."

"Swell. Ok – fine. First order of business is a cigarette, then – " then I'll answer the phone that's ringing in my pocket. "Yeah, hello – "

"It's Eddas," the boss lady says on the other end.

"Yeah?"

"I thought you'd want to know that the AFN made a number of arrests last night in Culiacan, based on information I shared with them – information I got from you."

"_And_?"

"They found Milo."

Fuck. "And?"

"He's in rough shape – but he's alive."

"How rough?" Because – because I know what guys like that are capable of doing.

"I couldn't get any solid details out of anyone. I'll be on a plane within the hour and Patrick is meeting me there – and Sands – I need you to remember that you're still wanted on some very serious charges in Mexico."

Sedition. Civil insurrection. General bad behaviour. "Yeah. I know."

"So you'll stay put?" It doesn't really sound like a question, despite Eddas' best efforts there.

I want to tell her to go to Hell because of course I won't stay put – but how much good could I do him if I went down there? It's not that I mind playing cops and robbers with the locals – I can do that with my eyes… yeah. Right. Anyway. It's not that I'm worried about the authorities or El Presidente – or even El Mariachi, it's just that what the fuck could I really do to help Milo anyway? I can't even seem to help Beth, and she's right here… "Yeah. Yeah, I'll stay put. I'm a good little rat, remember?"

"You're more than a good little rat, Jeff – and that's exactly why I don't need to be worrying about you ending up in some Mexican jail, or wondering if every little explosion I hear in the distance is your handiwork or just the usual local ambiance."

Which _almost_ gets a smile out of me. I'm just not in much of a smiling mood right now. And the boss is still talking:

"De Jesus is still in the U.S., but by tomorrow morning Rebecca Suarez will be on her way back to us – and I need you and Ryan to start building me a case."

"Me – and Tonto – " she's got to be shitting me.

"Tonto?"

"The kid."

"Right. Just because he's never going to be much of a litigator doesn't mean he isn't a good attorney. I know you think he's a little wet behind the ears – and he is – but also he's extremely smart and he knows what he's doing."

"Yeah, right," no, I'm not real convinced. However, "What I want to know is what you expect _me_ to be doing – I don't know shit about this shit. I'm – a spy – I've spent most of my career in covert ops and I'm usually on the wrong side of the law for real, not just according to you guys. No offence," I add. Good little rats don't bit the hands that hand out the cheese.

"None taken. I need you on this because you know what's been going on down there, and you'll get the – subtleties – of Suarez's operations and her connection to De Jesus. You'll see the kinds of things Ryan would miss. He_ is_ a good attorney, but he doesn't understand things the way you do."

"Ok, Boss, you sold me there." No one understands this shit better than me – and it's funny the way she says 'see' – it's not an insult and it's not an oversight either… oversight. Right. Fuck, I need to get out of here. I a nice stretch of beach, and – and an angel sitting next to me in the sun… I know, dream on.

"I know this isn't a good time for you to be working – "

"No – no it's a very good time for me to be working. If I'm working, I'm not thinking – well, I_ am_ thinking – " but yeah…

"How is she?"

"Awake." I'm still not ready to talk about the particulars. "The doc seems to be happy about – how things are going."

"I'm glad to hear that, I really am."

"Thanks – and ah – you'll keep me in the loop on Mexico, right?"

"As soon as I find out anything, I'll call – and as soon as Milo's stable enough, I'm going to bring him stateside. If I can't stay there until that happens, I know Patrick will. De Jesus and his people will not get a second chance at him."

"What about the Company?"

"Let me worry about the CIA. You've got enough on your plate right now – and by the end of the week you're going to have a whole lot more."

"Um – ?"

"Don't panic – at least from where I'm sitting it's all good."

"Ok ah – you know, Boss, there are lots of ways to interpret that little statement." I mean, I'm pretty sure she's not secretly planning on getting me fitted for an orange jumpsuit, but you really can never know for sure until it doesn't happen…

Eddas chuckles just a little, "I'm just not real sure you're going to enjoy being the new little star in my office, that's all."

Fuck me. But good. "No, that wasn't quite what I had in mind here."

"Tough. I've got a stack of evidence on your desk – and it keeps getting bigger. And – if you're up to it, Bernie's going to stop in sometime today – because – that problem isn't going to disappear just because I've got you working on something bigger in the grand scheme of things."

"Yeah," she's right and I know it. I also don't think Eddas will let me just shoot Emma's grandfather and have done with it my way (you know, the easy way…) because here in the United States, we have to at least _pretend_ to be civilized. Now, if I could the old man alone in a dark alley somewhere, maybe on the wrong side of the tracks… but we all know that my luck just isn't that good.

"I – took the liberty of making arrangements with Emma's school – just contact them when you get a chance. She can take the tests she needs to take over the break and start in the new year. I figured you had your hands full yesterday."

"Thanks." And yeah, that was one of those sincere thank yous. "I appreciate it and – hey, when you see Milo, you tell him I said he'd better be back on his feet soon because we have a date for some karaoke and vodka and I don't think he wants anyone else taking his place."

"Karaoke and vodka?" Eddas queries.

"He'll know what it means."

"I'll relay the message – and I'll be in touch again soon."

Yeah.

But fuck.

He's alive.

I hang up my phone and take a nice deep breath. He's really fucking alive. And – he really didn't sell me out. He didn't sell out Beth and the girls… I just hope to fuck that he's not in the same kind of rough shape I was in when – when I ended up puking my guts out in an angel's petunias…

"Everything ok?" Tonto asks then – and I realize he stepped away a little to give me some privacy on that call. Guess the kid gets marks for good manners, too.

"Yeah. Peachy. But I think I need a shower before we head into the office."

"What's going on?"

I fill him in on the details on the way up to Beth's room.

Both she and the girls are glad to hear that Milo's going to be ok (I'm kinda sketchy on the particulars because of Cicily) – but it still doesn't make me real happy when Beth seems so relieved to have me getting out of here for the rest of the day. I would have liked it if she was just a little bit unhappy to see me go… but… maybe I don't blame her so much. I'm not real good company under the best of circumstances – and – and it's my fault she's like this. I know she told me not to blame myself, but how can I not? I didn't pull the trigger, but I did put her in front of the gun, just the same way I put Marquez in front of El.

Still, Beth doesn't shy away when I lean in to kiss her – and her kiss is still warm. Inviting. Maybe even a little hopeful…so at least for right now, I've still got the girl… maybe.

… On the drive to Tonto's pad (I really do need to get in a shower before going into the office – I smell ripe even to me) Cicily insists that I sit in the back seat with her. She curls up next to me and won't let go. She doesn't say anything, but I don't have to be a shrink to know she's pretty messed up by the whole thing. (I'm not real sure how much Beth told her, if Cicily realizes that her mother is never going to walk again and why…) And I'm trying real hard not to think about it – because – if it was my kid, I don't know if I'd want the person responsible for this much damage hanging around after the fact… fuck, I don't know how I'm going to get through this… I wonder if Beth would even believe me if I told her how much I love her – I wonder if she'd believe I was capable of it. I'm not real sure _I_ believe it myself…

Tonto's pad is about what you'd expect, neat, orderly. Small. Kinda smells like mom's apple pie – well, his mother's, not mine. Remember, Alison learned to cook from our mother and Greta could burn water just trying to boil it for macaroni and cheese… guess the old man finally got sick of half frozen, half singed TV dinners and hooked up with a gal who could cook…

"It's not much, but it's home," Tonto says to me as we walk in the door (oh yeah, and Spencer was right there waiting to greet me as we walk in. Guess he missed me too – and truthfully, I kinda missed having him around. I've gotten used to him… I give that spot behind his ears a bit of a scratch, then make way so the girls can love on him.)

...The hot water from the shower feels good pelting down on my hide (so does getting rid of the stench. I really don't like stinking.) And… I remember being in Beth's kitchen on the Day of the Dead, and how good it felt when she rinsed me down with warm water. I remember the way she touched me – how that and the warmth of the water reminded me that I was still alive, that it really wouldn't always hurt that bad… I remember waking up in the middle of the night screaming, shaking – crying – how she convinced me to trust her enough to help me into the tub, to help me wash my hair. I remember how good it felt to just forget for a few minutes who I was, because she was just so easy to be around. I'm not sure, but I think that's when I first started falling for her…

Christ – everything aches right now and no amount of hot water seems to be enough to make me feel warm inside. I swear, I'm the world's biggest fuckmook – because – I need her. I fucking _need_ her. Me, who doesn't need _anybody_ – who's made a life-long habit of not making friends, not forming real close attachments – not doing anything that could jeopardize my reputation as a psychotic asshole (I know, I know I'm really a sociopath, but no one pays attention in psych class anyway, and the difference between the two is pretty fine. See, I'm not off my rocker, I just don't _care_. I don't know how to care. I don't _want_ to know how to care. I'm not wired up like other people and that's just fine by me… really it is. Why would I want to be like other people?)

But just what am I going to do if she_ really_ she tells me to get lost – to exit stage left and get the fuck out of her life forever? How will I survive that?

I can imagine all the things I'm going to _want_ to do, but I can't go off and do any of them because I have Emma and – and I just can't cut out on her the way my old man cut out on me…

"Jeff – you ok in there?"

"Peachy keen, jelly bean," I answer Tonto's query. Guess I probably have been standing under the water a little too long. Wonder if he thinks I may have gone and done something stupid – or if he just doesn't think a blind guy can take a shower without a chaperone. Just the same, I haul my ass out of the shower and get dressed (feels like Em packed one of my Western style shirts and a pair of jeans – and you know, the thought of my kid picking through my underwear drawer to pack me a pair of briefs – yeah, that's just fucking wrong somehow. But I was right about her packing more than just some cloths and my personals – there's a holster in the bag and – yep, my pair of Brownings – even a couple of extra clips. And the right ones even – looks like that day from Hell on the firing range wasn't a complete waste of time after all. Now, I just have to teach her that when she packs heat for her old man, she also has to pack a suit coat – but I guess my overcoat will do for concealing the guns while I'm on the street and that's where it really counts.)

I scrape the stubble from my face and the fuzz from my teeth before joining the rest of the world – which turns out to be just Tonto waiting for me in the bedroom (it's one of those 'master baths' – though not nearly as nice as Milo's beau's – attached to the 'master bedroom.')

"I just – wasn't sure if you – needed anything else," he sounds kinda unsure of himself there. I think that last little pause was when he spied the guns. Heh.

"You got an ashtray laying around?"

"Um – no – but here – this'll do," he says.

And into my other hand goes – hmm, what the fuck is that? Clay pinch pot – you know the kind of things little kids make in art class. "Your handiwork?"

"I was never very good at art – mostly I just use it as a paper weight."

"Uh-huh – you could put a good dent in someone's head with this thing," I park my ass in that chair I bumped into on my way through and get my smoke lit up (feels like a computer at my elbow too – looks like his bedroom doubles as office space.)

"So um – what now?" Tonto wants to know.

"First I finish this, then we head to the Batmobile to go battle crime, just like you've been dreaming of doing all your dreary little life," I smirk up at him – too bad I can't wink.

"Where are you going away to?" (That's Cicily – sounds like she's standing at the bedroom door – and no, she does not sound real keen on the idea of me taking off again, either.)

I park my cigarette on that substitute ashtray and hold out my hand to her – Cicily crawls right into my lap. "I have to go into the office for a little while, that's all – "

"But who'll take care of me?" It sounds like she's real close to tears there, too.

"You have Emma – "

"But – what if – what if another man comes to the door?"

"It'll be ok – I promise," I try to tell her. I'm not real sure I'm telling her the truth, I just don't know what else to say. I don't have much of a choice – the stuff we're likely to be going over isn't the sort of stuff I want Cicily hearing about…

"Um if I could maybe make a suggestion," Tonto butts in, "There's is a daycare at the office. It's just a couple of floors up from your office – and they're very nice," that last seems directed at Cicily, who doesn't quite seem keen on the idea (or at least that's the best interpretation I can make of the way she keeps wiggling closer into me.)

And oh, Emma's just going to_ love_ the idea of a 'day care'… now ask me if I'm going to give her a choice… "Ok," I say to Cicily, "You want to come with me, then?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good." And – truthfully, I really do prefer the idea of the girls coming with us. "You go tell Emma," who won't shoot the messenger if the messenger is Cicily – and even if she were to try and shoot me (literally), her aim is for shit. "I'm going to finish getting ready."

"Ok," Cicily pulls closer for one more hug – and Christ – I don't want to lose this, any of it. I love them both (and yeah, I love my little pain as well. I really will shoot that grandfather before I give her up, and if it comes down to that I don't give a flying fuck if Eddas approves of my methods or not.)

And… maybe thinking about that puts me in just a warm and fuzzy enough mood… I take a nice long drag off my smoke and turn my attention back to Tonto. "I got some stuff from my darling little sister the last time I visited and – I'm pretty sure there's at least one picture of the old man in with my collection of treasured childhood memories," sarcasm? Moi? "You're welcome to it."

"Jeff – "

"Do _not_ gush," I warn. "It's not like I've got much use for old photographs these days, anyway," I add, gesturing towards my face.

"Thank you. I – I just can't get my mother to tell me anything –"

"You ever consider that maybe she's doing you a favour, there kid?"

"Maybe. But – that doesn't stop me from wanting to know."

"You know what they say about curiosity," I tell him, "I hope you don't end up regretting this." I hope I don't end up regretting it either… I hope I don't end up regretting a lot of things…

………………………………………………………

I just want to feel safe in my own skin  
I just want to be happy again  
I just want to feel deep in my own world  
But I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore  
On a different day if I was safe in my own skin  
Then I wouldn't feel so lost and so frightened  
But this is today and I'm lost in my own skin

And I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore

I just want to feel safe in my own skin  
I just want to be happy again

Dido

(Honestly Ok)

………………………………………………………

I have a smile  
stretched from ear to ear  
to see you walking down the road

we meet at the lights  
I stare for a while  
the world around disappears

just you and me  
on this island of hope  
a breath between us could be miles

let me surround you  
let my sea to your shore  
let me be the calm you seek

oh and every time I'm close to you  
there's too much I can't say  
and you just walk away

and I forgot  
to tell you  
I love you  
and the night's  
too long  
and cold here  
without you  
I grieve in my condition  
for I cannot find the strength to say I need you so

oh and every time I'm close to you  
there's too much I can't say  
and you just walk away

and I forgot  
to tell you  
I love you  
and the night's  
too long  
and cold here  
without you

_Sarah McLachlan_

(I Love You)


	49. Everything changes Everything

I just want to take a quick minute to thank everyone for the wonderful reviews!

Quick – I meant to say before that I watch CSI: LV, but I don't remember ever seeing the actress you mentioned… I'll have to pay attention to those reruns (I swear, we have 180 channels and sometimes the only thing on is bloody reruns…) ;)

Merrie – thank you! Yes, I've made myself right at home in Sheldon's head… but look at all those voices I have to keep me company there ;)

And yes, he really has gotten "under my skin" as it were… but there are worse guys to have dancing around my brain… which is probably why my husband is dreading the sequel that I'm already starting to work on, at least in my head.

Everyone, thanks again! It really is going to get just a little bit worse before it finally gets better… I'll be ending with an even fifty chapters.

**Chapter Forty Eight:**

_Everything changes Everything_

The details of the rest of my day don't bear repeating, other than to mention that after having my fill of Tonto being – well, Tonto – I put a bullet in the floor about three feet in front of his tootsies and we_ finally_ managed to find a way to make this working together thing work. I gave him plenty of warnings before actually pulling the trigger, too. I mean, really, you'd _think_ a guy like him would take a guy like **me** seriously the _first time_ I point business end of that Browning my little muffin packed for me in his general direction… but like I said, after pulling the trigger, we were able to get down to business. And don't sweat it, I screwed on a silencer first, so security didn't come running… I do so hate awkward explanations, don't you? Oh and I should probably add that with the way Tonto yelped (what a satisfying sound it was, too), I was honestly almost afraid there for a couple of seconds that I might have missed floor and ruined his shoes – not to mentioning getting blood on the carpet. But I didn't ('course I guess the carpet is still kinda fubared anyway because of that bullet hole… oh well.) I _did_ get my little assistant to swear again, though. Heh! (All he said was _Holy crap, you really are insane!_– but I'll take what I can get. Maybe I even get double points for that "holy," if he's really the good little choir boy from Mayberry I imgaine him to be…)

Other than that little bit of entertainment, however, the day pretty much sucks. I get a brief reprieve from it when Bernie Haskle comes into my office around two – he's the family law guy Eddas has sent my way. We go over the wherefores and whyfores and whatfores and he basically tells me not to sweat it, he's spoken to the Dawson's attorney and they don't have squat, even though they think they do. (Their big issue is my being absent for the last three months – not to mention the all those years prior – but all I have to say is that it was job related and the details are classified, just practice that little line Eddas taught me and I have nothing to worry about. Add into it the fact that Em is fifteen and the judge is going to listen to what she has to say, and the apparently swell job I've done with her since I got her – guess we'll be leaving out the little detail about what I did to Danny-Boy Collins right in front of her… yeah. Anyway…) Bernie takes his leave of me after about an hour, letting me get back to work. Yippie-skippie. Tonto has had enough time to get ahead of me, giving me nothing to snarl and snipe about…

The day only gets that much worse when I find myself with no other real viable option but to accompany my little assistant and the girls back to his place for the night. The condo is being treated as a crime scene and is still being processed. I'm a wee bit disconcerted about that whole "crime scene" thing – but as far as I know the only crime on record is Collins breaking in, shooting Beth and threatening to shoot me… I hope… because I'm really not flying solo any more and I know it.

And – you know, I'm not sure that sucks so much, I'm just not sure – I'm not sure of much of anything. I just cannot convince myself that Beth is ever going want to stick around the way I want her to, not after this, and that just makes those little knives I've got dancing around my gut twist and churn that much more, kinda killing whatever apatite I might have had (pizza. Yum. Yep – sarcasm.) Although I do manage to go through about half of that fifth of rum I insist we stop for – much to Tonto's chagrin. (Yeparooni, there Buckaroos, give yourselves a bunch of little gold stars if you figured out that not only doesn't he smoke or swear but he doesn't drink either. It's just like I said, he's a choir boy from Mayberry – I have no idea how it was we both fell off the same apple cart.) And yes, we picked up _rum_. I'm really sick of fucking tequila. At least for a little while…

After a brief hashing out of the details, we (that is _I _) agree that the girls could stay in Tonto's bed (that's where the slept last night). Anyone else but my little virgin there and I might feel slightly different about my girls in his bed – I know, I know, it makes no sense, but there's just _something_ about the thought of my girls sleeping in sheets that have seen the ol' horizontal mambo that just gives me the woogies. Yes, _woogies_ is a word. The last time I played scrabble and someone tried to tell me it wasn't – well, I settled the argument my way. And you know, I have the darnedest time trying to get people to actually play scrabble with me – guess that isn't so much an issue these days… oh well, in the grand scheme of things, there are things that I'm going to miss a whole lot more than a stupid game.

At any rate, Tonto tries to get me to take the sofa (where he slept last night) but I finally win the argument and end up in the recliner. (Use your imaginations about _how_ I won that little argument, because in case you haven't picked up on it, I'm just in a real fuck of a mood today.)

"It's not the first time I've slept in a chair," I tell my little assistant, by way of consolation. Yeah, my tone is pretty surly, too.

"It isn't?"

"Don't you ever go to the movies?"

"What?"

By now I'm sure the poor boy is convinced the wind is blowing North-North West because when my mood is this sour – well, you've been around me long enough to get the idea. I just smirk at him, "You know, all those flicks where the hired gun sleeps sitting up in a chair just so's he won't be taken lying down when the good-guys – or bad guys depending on the script – come crashing through the door."

Silence.

"Christ on a crutch," I mutter at him, "You _really_ need to lighten up, Kemo Sabe."

"That's not very easy to do with the mood you've been in today."

"You're the one who wanted to share in all the brotherly love," I think my tone's gone from surly to sarcastic – or maybe sardonic is a better word. It's pretty fucking scathing, anyway.

"And here I thought it was just the rum making you so – difficult."

Hmm… he's kinda pissy sounding too. Disapproval over my drinking habit, I wonder? (Because Christ, half a fifth? You've seen the way I drink, I'm barely even feeling it.) "Nope. I'm like this all the time. Didn't you pick up on that on our little road trip?" (I'm going about the business of arranging my chair – fluffing the pillow, figuring out just where the best place to stash my pistol would be… you know, the usual stuff…)

"I just – thought that was – situational."

"What – being stuck with you personally or just being on the road period?" Satisfied with the state of my 'bed', I light up a smoke and park my ass to enjoy it a minute before getting to the rest of the nightly routine. Hey, gotta have one last smoke before brushing my teeth.

"Do you really dislike me that much?" Tonto asks – and I swear the boy actually sounds hurt.

I take a nice long drag off my cig, hold it a second, and then let it out real slow. Maybe I am being just a little harsh the kid, because I kinda suspect that maybe there might be more to this whole blood-being-thicker-than-water thing than I've wanted to admit (on _his_ end, thank you, very much. I just do not give a flying fuck. Go ask my sister about all our warm fuzzy moments, if you don't believe me.) "You really need to grow yourself a thicker hide, there Buckaroo – or you're never going to be able to hack working with me, because I_ am_ an asshole. Get used to it."

I think it takes him a couple of seconds to really digest that… "I suppose I can work on it."

"Good. Now – give a blind guy a hand and direct me to the head, because I haven't really been paying much attention to the floor plan." I stamp out my smoke and gather up my personals. I really wasn't planning on being here more than for that shower earlier, so I didn't do a very good job of counting my steps – and I swear, his furniture is out to get me, because every time I _think_ I know where I'm putting my feet something jumps out and kicks me in the shins…

Oh yeah – and Tonto has clearly never had to lead a blind person around. He doesn't bash me into a wall or anything but I think next time I need to get from point A to point B here, I'll just try my luck on my own. I may end up black and blue from the knees down, but I'll get to my destination a heck of a lot quicker.

I lock the bathroom door and – hmmm… ok, sink – swell – comode – yep – towels – always handy to know where those are. Let's 'see' – ah – medicine cabinet. Yes. I'm about to go snooping. Do you know how much you can tell about a person by what they keep in their medicine cabinet? Of course, it helps if you can _see_ but… let's just do the best that we can, shall we?

Toothbrush – new – not brand spanking new, but new enough – floss – toothpaste? Ok, I'm brave, I'll sniff it – yep, gotta be. Plain ol' mint, too. **Boring.** Mouthwash – that harsh crap, the mediciney stench nearly bowls me right over. Pee-yew, let's get the cap back that baby right now. Next… Aftershave – the offending Aqua Velva – and a razor. Electric. Figures. Made mostly of plastic. Cheap. I'm gonna have to teach the boy about the finer points of a good old fashioned blade – nothing pricy, but not some piece of disposable crap, either. Ok – what's on _this shelf_? Bottles. Probably painkillers, maybe vitamins – it's over the counter stuff – but – what-ho? A prescription bottle, I can tell by the way it feels… what I wouldn't give to know what the boy is on. (Of course, for all I know he had a cold and it's nothing more interesting than antibiotics. Still – it gives my mind something to ponder.)

I get everything back into place – I'm getting better at that – and I lay my stuff out carefully – I'm getting better at that too. I remove the glasses and rinse my face. I still find this part more than a little disturbing; I am never going to get used to those two gaping holes… but I manage to get past it enough to go about my business, brush my teeth and slid on that mask. Tonto's kindly lent me a pair of sweats to sleep in – we're damned near the same size (I think he has a little more meat around the middle than I do) and – and I guess I'd better get my butt back out there before he starts to worry about my ability to take a leak on my own... although I know that I was dawdling for a reason. More than just curiosity, that is.

See, I'm not I'm looking forward to trying to sleep in the same room as my little assistant. It's not like I'm really expecting to do much sleeping – but I'd rather toss and turn in private. And if I do manage to fall asleep, I'd rather wake up in a cold sweat in private, especially if end up tearing the mask off my face again in the middle of one of those nightmares. I mean, I know he's seen my face – but – yeah. I'd rather not have an audience when I wake up screaming in the middle of the night. And – I don't know why, but somehow that little bombshell he that Tonto landed on my ass does make a difference in my head. I don't know why – but it does. And – Christ, was that really only yesterday? Fuck me. It's going to be a long week.

By the time I get back out to the living room, Tonto has already settled onto the sofa. He's still awake (I can tell by the sound of his breathing) but he doesn't say anything to me. I guess we're not going to do the Walton's good-night role call after all.

I settle myself in in silence (I'm not sure if I prefer this to his chatting at me or not. Coming from Tonto, silence just seems so unnatural.) And of course, I can't sleep. It's not the company I'm in. It's fucking everything. I've wanted to call Beth all day – all evening. Right fucking now. I want to hear the sound of her voice more than anything else in the world – except maybe if I could have her here next to me. But I don't think I could take it if she told me she didn't want to talk to me. I'm sure she's spent most of the day sleeping, but if she'd wanted to hear _my _voice, she would have called, right? Only she didn't. So it's just me and the darkness getting reacquainted again… and you know, I'm sure if I had eyes to shut I might just be able to sleep…

"Do you need anything?" Tonto asks quietly after about ten minutes or so.

"Nothing anyone can give me, there Buckaroo."

"You know – if you ever want to just – talk – "

I roll over to give the illusion that I'm 'facing' him – you, know that I can actually see him instead of just all this darkness in front of me – in front, behind, to the sides, above, below... "Kid – the only things I'd have to talk about would curl your toe nails."

"If it was really that bad – why did you stay with it?"

"What – why didn't I get out of the CIA while I was ahead?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Well – I never quite figured on having my eyes drilled out of my skull, if you know what I mean." I'm honestly trying to keep the edge out of my voice, here – really, I am. "I kinda didn't see that one coming."

"I guess – I just get the impression that that was the worst thing – but not the only thing – "

"Noticed the ol' tootsies, did you?"

"I went to school with a guy who had a box of metal parts fall on his foot at work – he was supposed to be wearing steel toed boots, but he wasn't."

Yeah, I imagine his friend's foot looks about like mine do. "I had a hammer fall on my toes. One at a time. Over the course of a couple of hours, I think." That's just a guess on my part – but – ten toes and just enough time in between to almost recover – that's about two hours, right? I hear poor Tonto wince. Hey, he started this.

"Why – ?"

"Fun and games with the American spy," I shrug. "In case you're wondering – no, I didn't break. Real damn close – but – for reasons that seem to escape me at this point in the production, I've never betrayed my country."

"But you still went back to work."

"I took a couple of months off after that one – I figured it was the least the Company owed me. But yeah, after my little vacation, I was back up to my short and curlies it it."

"Why?"

"You know I really _can't_ give you the details," I tell him.

"That's not what I'm asking. To be honest – and no offence – but I don't think I want to know where you were or what you were doing."

"Knowing me can make it hard for a kid like you to sleep at night, huh?" I smirk. Yes, I take a certain perverse glee in this knowledge. I like being the Bad Guy.

"Not exactly the way you mean it. Knowing that – that stuff like that really happens – it's hard to believe, that's all. This is 2003."

"Here in the good ol' U S of A – yeah, it's the twenty first century – at least in most places. But in most of the places I've been, the locals would call this cramped little tin can apartment of yours a palace. Your second hand furniture would be a luxury."

"Wait a minute – how can you – "

I favour Tonto with one of those cat that ate the canary grins, "Educated guess, Kid. One that you just confirmed."

"But – how –?"

I really can't help chuckling, "You – unlike myself – don't place much value on the little luxuries. I'll bet the only reason you have a dishwasher is because it came with the place. You only have a microwave because although you can cook, you don't usually bother – or maybe you're one of those people who makes up a bunch of something all at once and then freezes the left overs because the price of single serving dinners doesn't fit into your budget – and you do have a budget. You're budgeted down to the penny. How'm I doing so far?"

"I'd like to know how you figured all that out."

Heh – kid sounds down right incensed. "Elementary my dear, Tonto. You told me."

"I – no. I didn't. I've barely spoken about myself – "

"You never shut up about yourself." I tell him in a bit harsher of a tone than I quite mean. And – yeah, he's sulking. "Remember what I said – I'm an asshole. Get over it."

"I just – I try – pride is – "

"One of the Seven Deadlies," I grin at him some more – bet he thought I didn't know that."

"Well – there was that movie –"

"Nail on the head, Buckaroo," I just keep on grinning. "See, everything you say – everything you do – it tells someone like me one more little thing about you. You budget carefully – but when it's important you will spend the extra dough, because I just do not see an upstanding boy scout such as yourself going Dutch-treat when you took that little fiancée of yours to New York or Toronto. And if you're not knockin' boots, you had separate rooms, just to avoid the perception of impropriety – and I'll bet you didn't know I had such an impressive vocabulary, did you?" I'm almost having fun now. Damn, I really needed this – I needed to vent a little steam without killing someone – not that I'd _care_ about killing someone, but I really think it would seriously tick off the Boss Lady if I pumped some so-called 'innocent' bystander full of lead just to get rid of a little pent up frustration. "I'll also lay odds that you didn't book yourself and that little lady of yours into some cheap-ass roach motel, either, but not because you think you have to impress her – she's like you in nearly every respect – although maybe just a wee bit more cultured. Probably not from a town like Mayberry. That probably makes you nervous – or at least it did in the beginning."

"How – "

Ha – I really do still have the knack for reading people. "You said you'd never been to a play before you met her – but the only things you've taken her to are the big name productions. Andrew Lloyd fucking Weber. Chances are she dug the shows – but you'll knock her socks off if you take my little suggestion. I can honestly recommend some good productions to you, because like I said, Broadway_ is_ amazing – but there's still something to be said for a house that only seats a hundred people. Now, when _I_ chose a motel back on that little road trip we took out West, it was 'just pull over to the first place you can find' – when I left it up to _you_, it was at least a higher-class roach motel. When I told you to rent a vehicle, you rented what was probably the second or third cheapest car within the parameters of your assignment – but it was also one of the safer models available, because you are a very safe little boy. You do everything by the book – I'll bet you never even so much as fudged a tax return. And, when I had you procure airplane tickets, you put us in business class instead of coach – no doubt for my comfort because for yourself you wouldn't have cared. And you've never flown first class in your life. Your apartment is a tin can – but there's a doorman, passable security and it's in a reasonable section of town. You use cheap aftershave and a cheap razor – something we're going to work on, by the by – so of course your furniture is second hand. You're saving for a house, probably in Maryland or Virginia – when you get it, you and the little misses will go out and pick out new stuff together because you already specified that you're going to buy a house you can raise a family in – i.e. you don't have your eye on starter home. You want a _real _house. A dream house, complete with dream furniture and dream kids. Just watch your luck – you've met my little muffin – there's no telling how much of that is genetics."

"What – how – and what's wrong with my aftershave?" he sounds seriously offended. Not to mention startled right out of his jockeys. (Although I'd bet good money he wears tidy-whities – I know, I know_ that_ was a mental image neither of us needed…)

"Grown men don't use Aqua Velva, there, Buckaroo, I don't care what the ads say. And you, my boy, have just become my new pet project – we're going to turn you into a man if one of us ends up dead in the process."

"_What_?"

Why, was that honest to gosh-darned-goodness fear in that little yelp? I just smirk, "Question for you."

"Yeah – " is his very weary reply.

"Just curiosity, really. Did they ever get hitched?"

"Did _who_ ever get hitched?"

"The old man and your mother."

There's a moment of silence – yeah, I change gears too fast for some people and I know it. That's half the reason I do it. "No," Tonto finally says. "He was married to Joyce at the time they were – together."

And – and holy crap Batman – it might just be his mother I snapped pictures of knockin' boots with the old man – you know, those photos I used to convince the Greggy-Boy to pay up some of that back child support he owed my mother. Oh holy fuck, this is just too tripped out. I never did bother to find out her name – but – yeah, I think she did work in the old man's office (and that is his usual MO.) Oh fuck indeed. I may well have captured Tonto's conception on fucking film… "How long did it last – the old man and you mother – do you know?" I actually have to struggle to keep my tone nonchalant.

"Mom never said. She really doesn't like to talk about – any of that. Do you – remember anything about him?" (Yeah, he's real hesitant to ask me that.)

I shrug, "Bits and pieces. I never saw him after he split, not fact to face anyway," what the Hell, it won't kill me to satisfy some of Tonto's curiosity, not after he just satisfied mine. "He smoked. He swore. He drank. Not to excess – at least not to a six year old's reckoning. But I remember the routine. He'd home from work around six – Mom had his martini waiting – he read the paper for an hour with the television on – but I wasn't allowed in the room with him. Alison was usually asleep during that first hour home – I don't know how Mom did it, I just remember that by the time six o'clock rolled around I was to be bathed, changed into clean cloths and playing quietly somewhere other than where he was going to be."

"Why?"

"I imagine he didn't want to be bothered by his offspring. At seven, we ate dinner. My mother was a terrible cook, by the way. I was in college before I realized that a pot roast wasn't supposed to look like an old football."

That gets just a bit of a chuckle out of my little Tonto – sad thing is that I'm not kidding here. That woman could not cook to save her life… "After dinner he vanished, not to be seen again until the following evening – not real sure where he went. I can make a few educated guesses though."

"His second wife?"

"Yeroonie, give that boy a cookie. He left us flat broke to go play house with her – and as far as I know he left without ever looking back, either. I don't imagine he did her any better when he split to go play house with Number Three." I do honestly refuse to call them by name. To give something a name is to give it meaning – and as far as I'm concerned they were all meaningless little hussies. I might maybe give Tonto's mother a wee bit more credit for not marrying him – maybe. Hopefully I'll never meet her, so it won't much matter.

"What makes someone like that?"

"Dunno. I guess from a little first hand experience, I could say that it's easy to get bored, long for a new flavour – you know what they say about the colour of the grass on the other side of the fence." Of course, I never promised anyone anything. Well – almost no one… hey, if you can't keep your dick in your shorts, you just have no business getting hitched. Ergo, I am a bachelor.

"You – ?" he stops himself – probably doesn't know quite what to say (or how to say what he wants to say, especially given that I'm sure he saw me tuck that Browning under my pillow.)

I offer up a bit of a smile, although I don't think it helps the poor kid relax any. "I've been around the block a couple times – more than a couple really. What can I say – there comes a time when you just want to sample the fruits of the little lily next door."

"Why?"

"To try something new."

"But – "

"Why don't I just tell you so you can stop squirming. I'm not a nice guy. Never claimed to be. But when it was me and Holly – Emma's mother – it was me and Holly. Period. I didn't know she was pregnant when she left me. When I found out – I stepped up to the plate with the dough, but I was already a spook, so playing daddy wasn't an option. Course she never got around to telling me she had fucking lupus – _that_ might have changed things. Maybe. I know what they say about hindsight being twenty-twenty an' all – but well, from where I'm sitting it's all pretty much black, backwards and forwards and side to side. So maybe knowing she was more aware of her mortality than the average Joe would have changed things – and maybe it wouldn't've. I'll never know," I shrug. That is something I keep wondering, though – if she'd've told me, what would I have done differently – if anything?

"When did you find out?"

"When I found Em at Alison's – you remember her, that charming little sister of mine."

"I assume you're being sarcastic?"

I almost laugh out loud at that one, "What gave me away?"

"That must have been – wow. I mean – you had no idea – ?"

"Nope. So tell me about Mayberry," I roll back over so I'm 'facing' the ceiling. Mostly I just want to change the subject – I really don't talking about myself, even if it's to a guy who isn't half as sharp as I am. No, I'm not being mean, Tonto _is_ smart, he lacks a certain worldliness. I've got that in spades – which is probably why I'm such a cynic.

"Miamisburg."

"Say again."

"Miamisburg."

"Miamisburg," I repeat. Christ on a crutch, what a name for a town. Miamisburg, Ohio. But – listening to him chatter on about his place of birth, I do believe I doze off, because the next thing I'm aware of is something moving – and Tonto snoring. Softly.

But it's the something moving that has my attention – it's not Spencer, he's laying next to my chair. And he's not reacting to the something moving – and I think I recognize those footsteps, too. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" I ask Cicily – she's hanging back a little… yeah, she knows me well enough to know that startling me in the middle of the night is a bad move. And Beth expects them to live with me…? Or at least – she did. I'm not real sure what she wants now… what I am sure of, however, is that Cicily is crying. I hold my hands out to her and she crawls onto my lap and just snuggles into me. I manage to arrange the blanket over her – although I don't think that shaking she's doing is because she's cold. I fold my arms around her and hold her close for a bit. "It was just a dream, Sweetheart. It wasn't real." Yeah – I don't need to ask to know that she had a bad dream. And – honestly, I'm not sure I want to know what it was anyway. I mean – yeah – the shit she saw the other day – the shit she has to know I did… the fact that her mother is probably never going to walk again… the fact that it's all my fault… But here she is – my little angel, holding onto me in the dark. I wonder if I have any kind of chance of Beth being even half so forgiving…

And – another set of footsteps comes out of the bedroom just a few moments later.

"Shelly?" Emma asks quietly.

"Yeah – I've got Cicily."

"Ok." She seems to hesitate.

"C'm here," I motion her over towards me – and – she's not afraid of me either. I know she should be – but she really isn't.

Emma settles onto the chair with us, on the other side, kind of on top of me… damn, who would ever have thought that – that here I would be with two kids coming to me in the middle of the night. I mean – I'm the cause of the nightmares and I know it. And – it hits me that Emma's crying, too, just real, real soft like.

"Em?"

She just shakes her head and adjusts herself a little so she's laying with her head on my chest; I manage to get one arm around her because – because I remember how good it felt when Beth held me in the dark. I remember being scared out of my mind and how having someone there to hold me made all the difference in the world, even though I still don't understand why it should. I can't take away the things Emma and Cicily saw the other day any more than Beth could give me back my eyes, but having her hold me like she did – it made me feel like there really was going to be a tomorrow and it would be better than today.

What am I really going to do if she leaves me?

Cicily's sniffle brings me back to the here and now, "Sweetie – it's really going to be ok." I tell her – I'm still not sure I'm telling her the truth when I say that, but I know it's what I want. What I'll do anything to make happen. _Please, I don't want to lose this – I know I don't deserve any of it – but – but I can't let go now… _I've had just a small taste of the things I never thought I'd have – and I want to keep it. I want this and I was an idiot to think I could ever walk away from it, it's just too late. I'm hooked. And that, my friends, is a mistake I'm sure I'm going to end up regretting some day – probably the day she tells me to take that long walk off that short pier into some deep, dark, shark-infested waters...

I feel Emma reach over to Cicily, "It's gonna be ok," she says in a voice that is so reassuring it amazes me. "We both just have to tough it out a little, that's all. Besides – we have each other too y'know."

"Please don't ever go away again," Cicily whispers quietly in my direction.

"I have to go out some times – I have a job to do –"

Cicily shakes her head against my chest, "I don't mean it like that. I mean – I don't want you to go _away_ – please, Sheldon. I don't want you to ever go away."

Oh Christ – I can't tell her that I'll never leave, because it's really all up to Beth now. If she tells me to get lost – I'll just – I'll get lost. I'll _be _lost, because I let myself get this attached. I set myself up for this – for getting hurt. And – I'm not sure, but I don't think Emma much cares for the way I'm not answering, not telling Cicily that I won't ever leave. "I don't want to go away," I suppose – I suppose she needs to hear _something_, I just have to be real careful here. I don't want Beth to ever be the 'bad guy' (that's my job.) "But – but it just isn't that easy." _It's as easy as you not getting back on a plane… _isn't that what I said to Beth…? Boy, was I wrong.

"Why?" Cicily wants to know.

"Because – life is complicated." _Yeah, Sands, you're doing a real bang-up job here_…

Cicily muffles a sob into my chest.

"Grown ups don't always make a whole lot of sense," Emma tells her.

Swell – it's true – but – but yeah. I love Beth. I would do anything to get to spend the rest of my life with her, and it hurts like Hell to not know if she'll ever feel the same way – or if after this, she'd even ever consider the possibility. I warned her that my life was ugly, but she just wouldn't listen… and they could have both died yesterday… and let me tell you, every time I think about that, I just freeze up inside, right to the very core. Maybe if I was a better man I wouldn't give her the choice, I'd just leave before she or Cicily end up dead… but – I can't. "How about if I just tell you that I'll stick around just as much as I can," I tell Cicily. "But – it's something me and your mom are gonna have to work out." And there go those knives dancing around inside my gut. I mean – if she tells me to get lost, how much chance do I really think I'll get to – to 'see' Cicily ever again?

"How come?"

"That's just the way these things work – now come on, you should really try to go back to sleep." Because I don't think tomorrow is going to be any less long than today – or yesterday – or whatever… I have no idea what fucking time it is.

"Can I stay here? Please? I promise I don't snore or kick – much."

At which point I'm trying very hard not to laugh, because I don't think she'd understand that I'm not laughing at her, it's just – something about the request makes me want to chuckle. "If you're sure you want to – I might snore, you know." Or scream…

"I don't mind."

"Ok," I give the top of her head a little bit of a kiss – and I can feel Emma shifting to get up – to go back to the bedroom… "You – don't have to run away either – if – unless – you want to."

"You sure?" (And I swear, she really does sound hopeful, there.)

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Thanks," Em settles back in. And real, real quiet, "I love you, Dad."

"Love you too," I manage to get my throat working after a little longer than I would have liked – I really never thought she'd call me – _that_. (I like the way it sounds – I just never expected to ever hear it.)

"I know you didn't mean for any of this to happen," Emma continues, still real quiet like. "This is really why you wanted Alison to hang onto me for a little longer, isn't it?"

"Yeah. But – it doesn't matter. I'm glad to have you – I'm just sorry – you know. Shit like the other day. I wish I could tell you you'd never have to see anything like that again – but – it's gonna get worse before it gets better." I'm not even sure it is ever going to get better – but I don't want to tell her that. The kid has some right to hope for a normal childhood… yeah, I know, dream on. It wasn't normal before she came to live with me.

"I'm ok with it," Em tells me – she's not a very good liar, but I guess I she deserves brownie points for trying. "He's the one, isn't he," she continues, "The one who – you know – is responsible – ?"

"He set it up. He didn't know what was gonna happen – but – he set it up." Set _me_ up – even if he didn't know exactly what they'd do to me, Collins knew it wouldn't be pretty. And – Christ, Emma's shaking. "You know they're going to lock him up and throw away the key, right?"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." I'm sure he'll squeal like the little yellow-bellied piggy that he is, but I believe Eddas when she says she won't deal with him the way she did with me. She might cut him a little slack, find him a room with a view somewhere – damn. I don't regret what I did (except maybe not getting to take his _both_ his fucking eyeballs out), but – damn, I can't quite believe I did that right in front of my kid. There's a lot that I want to say to her right now about that – but – I'm just not sure how much Cicily's digested, figured out – and she's having nightmares enough as it is. "Look – what happened – I told you I wasn't a nice guy. But – I mean – you get it that that was because – because he set me up, right?" _You get that I'd never hurt you…_

"I get it. I – I'm probably going to see that every time I – every time I close my eyes for a long time – but – " she falters a little – but I can hear it in her voice. At least she has eyes to shut – Collins took that little luxury away from me and she doesn't regret that little bit of pay back I laid on his ass. "I don't feel sorry for that bast-er – guy." Emma pulls in a little closer and drapes her arm across my chest, touching Cicily and holding onto me. I feel her eyelids slide shut against my shoulder…

_I want this, all of it, and I'll do anything I have to, tobe able to have it... if Beth willonlyhave me. _

…………………………..

Find me here,  
And speak to me  
I want to feel you  
I need to hear you  
You are the light  
That's leading me to the place  
Where I find peace again

You are the strength  
That keeps me walking  
You are the hope  
That keeps me trusting  
You are the life  
To my soul  
You are my purpose  
You're everything

And how can I stand here with you  
And not be moved by you  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this

You calm the storms  
And you give me rest  
You hold me in your hands  
You won't let me fall  
You still my heart  
And you take my breath away  
Would you take me in  
Take me deeper, now

And how can I stand here with you  
And not be moved by you  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this

And how can I stand here with you  
And not be moved by you  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this

Cause you're all I want  
You're all I need  
You're everything, everything  
You're all I want  
You're all I need  
You're everything, everything  
You're all I want  
You're all I need  
You're everything, everything  
You're all I want  
You're all I need  
Everything, everything

And how can I stand here with you  
And not be moved by you  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this

And how can I stand here with you  
And not be moved by you  
Would you tell me how could it be any better any better than this

And how can I stand here with you  
And not be moved by you  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this

- Lifehouse -

http/ www . lifehouse - lyrics . com / lifehouse - everything . html

(Cut, paste, take out the spaces and hear the song)


	50. Endings and Beginnings

**A/N:**

**Virginia State University**

I recently recieved a review that sent me searching for something online. Although I wrote this a long time ago, I was fairly certain I hadn't made up Virginia State University out of thin air. So I double checked (and I truly appreciate all reviews, good, bad, ubly and ESPECIALLY nit-picky! Nit-pickey reveiws are the very best.)

Virginia State Univeristy, however, is located in Petersburg, VA. Their mascot is the Trojan (sort of appropriate to our favourite CIA officer) and...**yes,** if I had done more than just a Google search the first time around, I would have realized that chances are Sands **wouldn't** have gone there, but the place *does* exist. Given that it is an historically Black college, I'm a little offended to be told that it doesn't exist, like that somehow makes it unimportant or not real. The website, by the by , is VSU dot EDU.

* * *

**Chapter Forty Nine:**

_Endings and Beginnings _

If Tonto thinks anything of waking up to find Emma and Cicily sleeping with me in the chair, he wisely keeps it to himself. Likewise, if he happened to overhear any of that last night, he keeps that to himself as well, and just gives me a rather sedate "Good morning," once he realizes I'm awake.

I just kind of nod in his direction, as I'm trying to figure out how to get up without disturbing either of the girls; my movement wakes Emma, however. "Morning," she says in a sleepy voice.

"Hey there, Kiddo," I manage a genuine smile at Em. I'm not much of a morning person – but there are a lot worse ways to wake up than this. and yes, that is really coffee I smell brewing – looks like my boy there really does have a nice healthy survival instinct. He's gonna need it too, if he really plans to keep working with yours truly.

Emma manages to crawl off me with damaging either of us in the process – all the movement has woken Cicily who just hangs on as I slide the recliner back into a sitting position. Yeah, there are definitely worse ways to wake up…

"Do you have to go to work today?" Cicily inquires in a quiet little voice. It doesn't really sound like she wants me to say yes.

" 'Fraid so – I still have a lot of work to do."

"Can we come with you again?" she wants to know – and – yeah, she sounds kinda scared to be left alone.

"I think we can manage that."

She hugs me for a real long moment – and – I swear, she's just a kid, but sometimes it's real hard to breathe when she does that, and it's not because she's squeezing too tight… what the fuck did I do to deserve this? I'm the bad guy – the villain of the story. I have brought down kings and lain waste to small countries (one big giant enema…) I deal with the scum of the earth because I _am_ the scum of the earth – but here I am, with this little kid in my lap. Not only is she here – but I really dig it that she's here. Un-fucking-believable…

"Can we go see Mama today, too?" Cicily's question brings me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah – yeah I'm sure she'd love to see you," I tell her – I only hope Beth doesn't mind seeing me, because I still remember the way she was so happy to get rid of me yesterday… not that I blame her, I wasn't exactly Mr. Sunshine. I just can't make myself believe she's ever going to walk again. I don't know how to have so much faith…

"You want me to take Spencer down for a quick walk?" Em inquires, as I'm getting myself a cup of coffee – I think that translates to: _do you think it's safe for me to go down by myself? _

"Let me throw on a shirt – I could use the fresh air myself. You two be ok for five?" I ask Tonto and Cicily – she seems to have taken a bit of a shine to the boy, having toddled into the kitchen to lend a hand with getting breakfast sorted out. (Just as well, if Emma were helping him cook, I'd be afraid to eat it…)

I excuse myself to the bathroom to put on a t-shirt and my shades, taking just a few seconds to scrap the fuzz off my teeth while I'm at it. When I come back out again, I find that Em is already by the front door, dressed and getting Spencer's harness on for me. "I thought women were supposed to take longer than men to get it together," I grumble in her direction.

"You're worse than any girl I've ever known when it comes to getting ready, Shelly," Em teases me.

(I didn't really think I was going to end up hearing 'Dad' out of her all the time, but honestly, I never expected to hear it at all, so I don't mind. It was just really just kinda groovy to hear it that once.) And I give her a bit of a smirk for that little comment and slip into my shoulder holster, pull on my coat and grab my smokes from the coffee table. And I can't help it, my hand falls right on that hat Beth got for me, so I slip it onto my head. "Be back in a flash," I say into the kitchen. It sounds like Cicily's going to be ok with my little assistant while I go downstairs with Em for a few minutes.

We're just about four feet out the door when I hear the elevator open up at the end of the hall. Ok, no real cause for concern there, it's morning, people are coming and going – but the person coming seems to be coming straight at me… hmmm… but what I really don't like is the way Emma scoots just behind me and the way Spencer moves out in front… nope, I do not like this at all. My hand slides into my coat to rest on that Browning…

"Officer Sands?" Asks a voice – male – fifty-ish, maybe. Slight Texas drawl.

"Who's asking?" I query – I can't quite believe that the Texan fuzz would trek all the fuck out here _just_ on that little B & E job I pulled.

"Chief Deputy Marshal Samuel Gerard – "

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck… Ok, keep cool – nice easy breaths. Just think a minute –

"You_ are_ Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, right?"

"Guess the dog and cane pretty much gives me away, huh?" I manage a grin. Barely. (And why the fuck is this guy alone? They wouldn't send in just one man to bring me in – I'm a fucking menace, a loose cannon, a lunatic – and my daughter is standing right behind me, and while she isn't in the line of fire, she _is_ an easy resting place for any stray bullets that happen to go zinging past me. _Or through me_.) "So – what can I do for you, Marshal?" I manage to keep my tone light. _Just keep it cool until you know for sure you're really screwed… _

"Marlina Eddas sent me –"

Ok – yup, this is it. I just didn't fucking see it coming – I mean that, I really didn't see this one at all. (And why the fuck would she send them to get me _here_? And where are the rest of _them_, anyway?)

And – I suppose I _could_ take down Mr. Marshal there without any real trouble, he really does seem to be all by his lonesome, and my hand_ is_ still resting on the grip of that Browning... Yeah, right, real slick – like he won't see _that_ coming a mile away. Fuck me. Just fucking fuck me. I really fucking trusted her (that would be Eddas.) I _really _believed every fucking word she said to me. I was even starting to believe I might be more than just a good little rat – and fuck it, I _**have** _been a good little rat! I've played by her rules, I've given her everything she asked for, done _everything_ she fucking told me to do…! Why is she turning on me? (Maybe Collins really did give her everything she needs…) But why now – why here – why like this? Why would she put Emma and Cicily into the middle of it – unless that was the only way she could think of to get me to surrender quietly (news flash: I am _not_ going to surrender quietly.)

"Marlina sent me to get you –"

"Yeah. Yeah, I got that much." I will _not_ go to prison, not after all this – not after Beth getting fucking shot. I won't spend the rest of my life in an orange jumpsuit – I just – I won't. I can't. (And – Eddas can't be _that_ pissed about what I did to Collins, can she? Fucking weasel _deserved _what he got.)

"She thought you might like accompany me to the airport – "

"Airport? What – ?" _airport?_

"Officer Suarez is on her way into the country – I thought you'd been briefed –?"

What… Suarez… Eddas told me… oh fuck me but good is right. I do believe Eddas has a sense of humour after all… I manage a smile. A real one. It's still probably pretty wan. "Just – give me a minute to – to put on some real cloths." Fuck. Fucking fuck. But at least I think I can almost breathe again, because – because I suppose it_ could_ be a set up – but it makes just a little more sense for it not to be.

"Shelly?" That's Emma. I think all she's registered so far is Marshal and me going with him,and she probably has visions of orange jumpsuits dancing in her head too.

"It's ok," I tell her, amazed that I actually sound reasonably sure of myself. I'm not saying I feel sure – but hey, putting on a good show is half the battle, right? Besides, there are easier ways to throw me into the pokey than to have a single, lone, solitary Marshal show up at my door – Tonto's door. What-the-fuck-ever. "You wanna step inside a minute?" I say in the direction of that solitary, single, lone Marshal.

He seems a wee bit hesitant – probably realizes I'm packing (I wasn't exactly being subtle about it) – but finally he says sure, and follows me back towards Tonto's apartment. (I get the impression Mr. Marshal is as much the butt of this little bit of early morning humour as I am, although hopefully someone at least warned him what a live wire I can be.)

"Suarez's plane is due to land in an hour," the Marshal tells me, as we hit the threshold, "I figure you'll want to ride out to Langley with her – "

Well that stops me in my tracks. "They're sending her _home_?"

"Jeff – ?" of course that's Tonto, probably wondering what I'm doing back so soon – and why not only am I not alone, but no body is shooting…

"Moss," I barely manage to use my boy's actual name, "This is Marshal – Marshal – " _oops._ I guess after I heard that word Marshal, I kinda blanked to the little details… needless to say, I never did so well at those 'how to influence people and make new friends' seminars…

"Chief Deputy Marshal Samuel Gerard," he introduces himself to Tonto – sounds like he holds out his hand – Tonto steps forth – but he seems a little leery.

"Ryan Moss – DOJ – I'm Mr. Sands' assistant."

Ooh, don't I feel special…

I imagine they shake hands – but yeah, my little Tonto is definitely hanging back a bit. "So what's going on?" he wants to know – only I'm quite not sure if that's directed at me or Marshal Billy-Bob, and damn if Tonto doesn't sound a little – defensive. Of me. I swear, I will just be gosh-darned all the way to Heck and back again… yeah, I'm being flippant. But it is pretty amazing if you really think about it – I mean, _me_ inspiring loyalty. Isn't that like one of the plagues of the Apocalypse or something?

Billy-Bob speaks: "I was just explaining that Rebecca Suarez is due in, in about an hour – Marlina Eddas wanted Sands here to be there when I pick her up."

"And Langley?" I kinda wanna know.

"CIA gets first crack at their own – although all things considered, I should have you back to your office by lunch. We really don't expect it to take very long in Virginia."

"Spiffy." And – it strikes me that if the Boss was in a good enough mood to arrange this kind of fun and games for my early morning amusement, things must be going ok down in Mexico… more to the point, Milo must be doing ok. Hell, for all I know, this was _his_ idea… yeah, yeah, I can picture that. I turn towards Tonto, "Mind taking charge of the girls while I go take care of this little bit of business?"

"Sure – no problem – we can – go to the hospital maybe –?" (That seems to be directed at them – and it seems to be a very good idea as far as they're concerned.)

"I'll catch up with you at the office just as soon as I get done at Spook Central," I promise them, then head into the bedroom to change. I pull on the first button-down shirt I lay my hands on, and button it about half way up, so I can get to my guns if I need to. I also arm myself with that little piece I keep locked up with the family jewels before sliding into a pair of clean(ish) jeans. I have no idea if anything even begins to match – but according to most people I know, no one would notice the difference anyway, even if contrary to popular belief, I really did used to put a lot of thought into my wardrobe. No, really, I mean that_. I did._ (I swear, everybody is a fucking critic…) What, you really think all those outfits were _accidents_? (And although I don't like it quite so much any more, I _did_ look good in that orange shirt – but – these days I think I'll avoid orange, thank you.)

I take five minutes to shave – wanna look my best for Rebecca, after all – and when I get back into the living room both Emma and Cicily have good-bye hugs for me… and damn, it feels good to hug them back. I promise again that I won't be long – and it's off into the wild black yonder. With a God damned Federal Marshal.

…"Nervous about something, there, Kid?" Marshal Billy-Bob inquires when we reach the lobby.

I'm not sure what gave me away, the way I'd been chewing on the end of my finger the whole way down in the elevator or the fact that just as soon as we clear the elevator doors, I'm lighting up that cigarette. (Nope, I didn't wait to clear the building, although the doorman is just bright enough not to say 'boo' to me about smoking in the lobby. Really, I am just passing through… He just holds the door and I just give up one of those little smiles of mine.) And – who is that kodger calling 'kid' anyway – oh yeah, wait, right, I look about ten years younger than I really am. "I dunno, Gramps – I'm about to get into a car with a U.S. Marshal – and you've gotta know about that little warrant I had on my head not so long ago."

He just chuckles, "You're armed – I'm armed – let's just call it a draw and try to have a pleasant drive without anybody getting trigger happy."

"I think I can dig it," I tell him. Hey, at least the old fart isn't holding the fact that I can't see against me. I take a nice long drag off my smoke, trying to force myself into believing that this is just exactly what it looks like. Of course from where I'm standing everything _looks_ the same as it would if it was a set up. Everything is black. Everything is always going to be black, for the rest of my God damned life… Still, the thought of Suarez in an orange jumpsuit is really almost enough to make me want to smile. Just as long as there isn't another one of those jumpsuits hanging in somebody's close with _my _name on it...

"I'm parked just about a block down – finding a place to put a car around here's a real bitch," Gramps informs me.

I just shrug – that much longer to savour my freedom… I know, I know it probably isn't a set up. It's probably just Eddas' warped idea of a joke because I told her how I felt about marshals showing up to cart me away. I told Milo, too, and I can really believe he'd conspire to set this up. And that has to mean that he's at least doing well enough to have a laugh at my expense – which makes me very happy. Really, it does. But he's still gonna get his, just you wait and see. As soon as I find out that I'm right and he's the one behind this little production number, his ass is so fucking mine – and not in _any_ way he's going to enjoy (although, honest, I will refrain from permanent damage... I don't know what I'm going to do, but I guarantee, it's going to be good. Real good.)

… The ride to the airport is mostly pleasant. Gramps favours country western music; it's a little twangy for my taste (real old school stuff), but what the Hell, it beats Diamanda Galas. Someone oughta just strangle that woman (I _think_ it's female at any rate) and put the parents and room mates of all of its fans out of our collective misery… but I'm relaxed enough to muse about little trivial things as I listen to the road go by.

"She coming in on a commercial flight?" I inquire of my companion, because if I'm not mistaken, this really _is_ D.C. Metro we're pulling into – although it seems like we just pulled off the main road onto one of those side roads…

"Not exactly. Small private jet – friend of a friend of a friend lent it out to – what is it you inside guys call it – oh yeah 'the Company.'" Gramps says – and no, I don't think he thinks he's fooling anybody playing dumb.

"What friend is that?"

"My understanding is that the Mexican President was in a bit of a hurry to extradite matters."

Fuck… but I doubt Corazon is on that plane. I mean – that doesn't make any sense – of course the AFN might be – fucking ducky. Even if this isn't a set up, it could get unpleasant – of course I am in my own country here…

"You ok there, Kid – you've gone a little pale."

"Just peachy keen, Gramps."

And that gets me a little bit more of a chuckle out of the old coot. You know, I may just be starting to like this guy, just a little bit. Hell, at least he hasn't tried to clam me in irons yet, and his driving doesn't leave me praying for Dramamine, either. (Milo is a fucking scary driver, boys and girls. I try not to bitch when he's behind the wheel, because, really, it's not like I could take over anyway – but he can take a four hour drive through the back roads of Ecuador and turn it into a two hour drive that had me practically kissing the ground when I finally got out of the jeep… And fucking Tonto is just the opposite. He'd take a four hour drive and turn it into a six hour drive – I swear, we had little old ladies honking at us to move out of the way when we were on that little road trip out west.)

However… Gramps gets us to just where we need to be right about the same time I become aware of a small jet landing. I have just enough time to smoke a cigarette while we wait.

Thankfully, there's little excitement as Suarez is walked onto the tarmac and in our general direction, although I'm gratified by the sound of chains clinking with each step she takes. I imagine they've got her in the full body shackles – and I _really_ hope that's an orange jumpsuit she's wearing because orange just was never her colour.

"Fucking Sands," Suarez has to yell a little to be heard over the ambient noise of the airfield – or maybe she's just that pissed, it's kinda hard to tell. Me, I'm just smiling. Suarez continues: "I should've known you wouldn't have the good sense to just die like you were supposed to."

"Tisk, tisk, Darlin' – you of all people should know I never do what I'm told. How many of those disciplinary forms had your signature on them?"

"Well – I see you two know each other," Gramps seems amused. "I'll go handle the paper work – be just a holler away if she gives you any trouble." He says and ambles off – yeah, I'm starting to like this guy. At least – as much as a guy like me is ever going to like a U.S. fucking Marshal.

"How is it that you aren't in prison by now?" Suarez wants to know. "Even if you didn't end up worm food – there is no way you should have walked out of there a free man."

"You need to learn to pay better attention to the playbill, Sweet Cheeks," I pull out that DOJ ID and flash it at her, along with the very sweetest smile I can muster – which is pretty sweet because I am just in a real good mood over here. This makes my day, it really does (which isn't going to get anyone off the hook for earlier – but I'll enjoy the snot out of this before I start figuring out how to even the score with Eddas and / or Milo.) "Surely you've heard the rumours by now," I keep on grinning.

"I heard it – but I didn't believe it. Come on – who are you trying to shit here? You are not one of the good guys."

"Yeah. Funny the way things turn out when you're just not looking. Kinda like how I calmly waltzed away with all 'your' dough down in Bogotá a few years back."

I can almost hear her teeth grinding – however, "How long have you been in bed with the DOJ?" is what she really wants to know.

"Long enough to know just how far your little op really goes." Snow job time…

"Than – you've gotta know this won't last long – I'll be out this in no time."

And – I'd say I almost believe her – but there's just too much of a nervous edge in her voice. "I think you're about to learn what it feels like to be burned. Slow fucking roasted, even." This is almost as good as setting them up and watching them fall, and I don't even have to see it to know that Suarez has landed flat on her keester right into a pile of rotten kim chee. And you know, despite her bravado, I think she knows it too. Just the same, "You know Collins is gonna squeal like a pig," I tell her. "Or did you _really _think I'd kill the star player in my little production number here?" Like I said, snow job time.

"You – your – !"

"I set them up. I watch them fall. Just like fucking Bogotá." I light up another cigarette. Yeah, Eddas has handed me a real sweet piece of cheese here and I think I'm going to savour the moment a little.

And – sounds like Gramps has wrapped up the paperwork, and those nice Mexican officials haven't even given me a second gander. Hot damn, we're on a roll. "We good to go, Chief?" I ask him when it sounds like he's close enough to hear me without my having to shout.

"All set on this end – they were pretty much happy to be rid of her."

Heh – what a shock. Frankly, I'm getting the idea the Company's got real egg on its face over this one. Oh well – not my problem…

"Hey, Jeff – I heard you left something behind in Mexico," Suarez says in my direction as Gramps gets her settled into the special passenger seat of our little vehicle. (I can hear him locking her shackles into place – gotta love all the little extras you can get these days – well, gotta love 'em if you don't happen to be on the wrong end of things…)

"Yep," I just shrug at her. I refuse to be bated. (Besides, I know she's just trying to regain a little footing for that Bogotá comment. I hurl my smoke to the ground and resume own seat up front, with Spencer at my feet.)

"So what's it like – the whole world just black? No more sunshine, no more – no more anything. Of course, I suppose the side benefit is that you'll never have to see what people really think of your face. I heard all about what Guevara did. Sounds like an improvement if you ask me."

"Well nobody's askin' you," that's Gramps. "Now pipe down back there before I forget all about how you're not technically my prisoner yet – unless that makes it ok to stuff a sock in her yapper?" that last is directed at me.

"I dunno – I guess that all depends on how you look at it, but I suppose it could be taken that way. And what the Hell – I can't _see_ anything anyway," I smirk in Suarez's direction.

Yeah, we have ourselves a nice quiet ride all the way to Virginia, just the hum of morning traffic and Conway Twitty to see us on our way…

At Langley we get we get Suarez settled into a 'safe room' – i.e., a room safe to leave a prisoner in because of all those nice bars and the big thick door that locks from the outside. And I gotta admit, I'm feeling pretty good about life just now, even when I hear Douglas Mitchel's distinctive footsteps…

"Fucking – Sands. I should have known."

"Hey there, Big Guy – lookie-see what I brought you – a nice little souvenir from Mexico," I grin at Mitchel. (Gramps is in the room too – and I honestly have no idea if Mitchel was expecting us or if this is as much of a surprise to him as it was for me this morning…)

My compatriot introduces himself – and I swear I can just about hear my former boss's eyebrows hitting the roof. No, I did not misspeak, if I'd meant the 'ceiling', I would have said ceiling. I meant _roof_.

"That cute little ex-partner o' mine gonna handle this one too?" I hate bringing Paula's name up – but I know it's what Mitchel would expect. "I haven't seen her since that little incident the other day – well, I mean really I haven't _seen_ her in eight years – and oh, how is ol' Danny-Boy, by the by? Think I could go up and say 'hello' –?" And if you're imagining me wearing a shit-eating grin, you've got the picture just about right there, amigos.

"Cut the crap," is the best thing Mitchel can come up with to counter my attitude.

"Yes, Sir, whatever you say there, Boss Man," I light up a smoke – no there isn't smoking allowed in here either. Now ask me if I care. "Oh. Wait. You're not my boss any more are you? In a bizarre round about, twisted, sort of way you might almost think of me as your boss – " ok, so maybe that's pushing it – which of course is the whole idea (although I have to remind myself to mind the poor guy's blood pressure, there. I don't think giving him a heart attack where he stands would be the best career move on my part.)

"Is there anything_ else_?" Mitchel wants to know.

"Dunno – is there?"

Gramps places a friendly hand on my shoulder, "Why don't you and me go get a cup of coffee – I think the director has it from here."

"Only if you're buyin'," I grin over in his general direction.

"Deal. Director," he says to Mitchel. "Call me when you're through. I expect this _won't_ take all day." And that last does not sound like a request there, Kemo Sabes.

… "So tell me, were you always so popular around here?" Gramps inquires, as we exit the building and make our way towards a little coffee shop that is still standing across the street.

"Popular – do you really think I'm popular?" I ask in a (fucking obviously feigned) hopeful tone. "I always thought they hated me."

My companion just sighs, and yes, it is one of pure and utter exasperation. I think he's real glad he doesn't have to work with my sorry, annoying ass. I toss my smoke to the ground as we reach our destination. Like me, Gramps just drinks plain old ordinary coffee – cuppa joe – java – none of that fancy crap my daughter orders. Neither of us has much to say, but I can't really call it an uncomfortable silence, either. Surprisingly, I'm the one to break it, "So – you know the Boss Lady long?"

"Marlina – we go back a few years," his tone is affable enough. "You gonna stick around?"

"Haven't quite decided yet," I tell him the truth. Like I said, I think I kinda like the guy. For a marshal.

"Well – I think I can probably handle the rest of _this_ from here – if you've got other things you need to be taking care of – "

"Probably a few things I should get to," I finish my coffee.

"Need me to drive you anywhere? They probably will be all fucking day," yeah, he sounds thrilled.

"I can take a cab," I give him a smile that's pretty close to sincere. And it has occurred to me that Eddas really sealed the deal as it were. I've not only shown up here with her, but now I show up with Deputy Chief Billy-Bob – and I'm _still_ walking out a free man. Fuck me, but the lady is good, because I will forever be the rat they go chasing after any time someone thinks a little cheese has gone missing…

I should probably mention that it's real fucking hard to be back at Langley and not go up to see Marcus Lewin. He really used to be the second person down on that not-so-long list of people I didn't think would ever screw me over – so what do I do? I give him a real swift kick in the nuts, for his trouble, that's what – you know, all that shit I laid on his kid. He really was trying to help – I just couldn't accept it, not if I really wanted to walk out of this in one piece, and fuck me, but I _really _think I have. I still have to get through that thing on Friday – but – I really think I've done it…

"Well – I'm sure I'll catch you around," Gramps says by way of good-bye.

"Not if I run faster," I smirk in return.

And that gets me an honest to goodness laugh out of the coot…

I listen to him go back across the street into Spook Central – but I'm sure at least a dozen sets of eyes are watching as I pull out my cell and call for a cab. I'm walking away. I'm going free. And there's not a damned thing the CIA can do to stop me.

And I know just where I want to go.

…………………………….

Beth is asleep when I get to her room – I can tell by the soft breathing I hear coming from the bed, so me and Spencer make our way real quietly towards where I hope – nope – nope – ah-ah, there's that chair. I slip out of my coat sit in the chair so I'm facing the bed. I can't really see her – but I can pretend. I can pretend she's really going to stay with me – I can pretend that she isn't going to wake up one morning and tell me to get lost – I can even almost pretend she might love me… maybe. Some day.

And I have absolutely no idea how long I've been just sitting there, listening to her breathe before I hear her voice – and – and I swear, it sounds like she's smiling at me, "Hey there, Cowboy – you been here long?"

I just shrug – but now that she's awake, I can scoot that chair closer to her without having to worry about the noise – and yes, that is her hand I feel on mine. Her touch is so warm, and even if she doesn't smell like orange and floral and musk – I just love being near her like this. (I admit it, I kinda wanna savour every second she gives me, just in case she doesn't give me much more.) I lift her fingers to my lips and give them just a little kiss. "How you feeling?" I ask – yeah, I feel like a fucking asshole the minute I hear my own voice – I mean, she was fucking shot, I _know _how she feels – but – I really just don't know what to say… that's the real reason I never called my mother when she was laid up. I just – I didn't know what to say…

"Not too bad. I got to eat scrambled eggs for breakfast and I had this soft mushy stuff for lunch – I'm not real sure what it was, though."

I can't quite help but laugh, just a little – Christ, I feel so good – only – only I know I took this beautiful angel and –

"Shhh, Sheldon, don't – "

"Beth – " _it's my fault, I know it is._

Beth pulls me a little closer, "You have got to stop beating yourself up, Sheldon. I don't blame you – I'm not mad at you. But – I want you to know that – you're not stuck with me either."

"What?" not stuck with – why does it kinda feel like the floor is dropping out from underneath me here?

"I have other friends – other places I can go – you know – if it's going to be too much."

"If – if I think _what_ is going to be too much?"

"Shel – I'm not going to be the only having a tough year. You've got a lot going on. I heard about this morning. Although it's kinda good to see you're not wearing orange," it sounds like she's trying to smile.

"Yeah – but – but what I'm interested in is – is you – leaving?" That_ is_ what she's getting at, isn't it? That she – might –_ leave_? I mean – I know I told her she should but – but – _I take it back. _I don't want her to leave.

"I'm just letting you know you're not stuck with me, that's all. You don't have to take care of me – "

"I _want_ to be stuck with you – "

"Listen to me, Sheldon: I'm going to be in physical therapy three days a week for most of the next year. I can't do that alone – and I'm going to have to work on it at home too. I – I know you've got a lot going on with this whole thing with – with everything. I understand that you – won't have the time for me – "

"I'll make the time." Yeah, like I made time yesterday to even pick up the fucking phone and call…

"Sheldon – I'm going to be stuck in a wheel chair for _at least_ the next few months. Maybe more. That's not going to be easy for anyone living with me – anyone – trying to take care of me. And it's_ not_ your fault," she says again (which isn't to say I'm believing her), "But there's a real good chance that some of the damage in my left leg is – it's permanent."

Oh fuck… "How – how bad – ?" I asked her to stay with me so I could keep her safe – or at least that's what I told myself, what I told _her_. I really wanted her near because I'm a fucking selfish prick and when she's around – when she's around I don't wake up screaming in the middle of the night. When she's around I'm happy. But – I knew – I had to know – that someone would come after me sooner or later, that she'd get caught in the crossfire. Only that didn't matter. The only thing I cared about was what **_I_** wanted. And now – now she's never going to walk…

"I _will_ walk. But I'll end up using a cane or maybe a crutch. It's not going to be pretty – and it's _not_ going to be easy. There are a lot of things I'm going to have to learn to do all over again from scratch, because I won't be able to do everything I used to, at least not the way I used to do it."

God – no. Not – not my angel…

"My physical therapist thinks there's a real good chance I might regain my right leg completely – but – it's really going to take a lot of hard work. I won't be able to focus on much else for a while."

"And – and so you don't want me around – " _you don't need the constant reminder of how you ended up this way… _

"That's not what I'm trying to say. I'm trying to offer you an out – no hurt feelings – just – it's a matter of what's practical. You have a very full plate – and I have friends who work two days a week. I'll be up to playing again in no time, as long as I take it easy between shows. I don't even have to play at every show if I'm not up to it – but getting out into the world again would probably be good for me. Even though things are a little rustic on the road like that, I've done enough PT work that I can train just about anybody to do the exorcises with me, so it's not like I really _need_ to be near a hospital. I just need to have a person who can be there."

(Yeah, I guess I'm not exactly Mr. Fucking Dependable, huh? Look at all those fucking broken promises… everything just feels like it's just – just crumbling, right around me, too. She's obviously put a lot of thought into this. Like all day yesterday, when I didn't call or stop back up to see her… Beth is still speaking:)

"I don't want to put that much pressure on you, not knowing what you've got going on in your life right now. Maybe – maybe we can try picking this up again when – when – you know, when things are a little more settled. If – if you want."

"No." No that isn't what I want at all… only I'm just barely aware that the word has slipped out…

"So you've got your out. No hurt feelings." (Except it sounds like she's trying real hard not to break down – and me? I'm not sure I know how to hold it together at this point…)

"You asked me not to leave – " she fucking asked me not to run out on her… and now, now she's going to run out on me… only she can't fucking run, can she…?

"I was wrong to ask something like that before I told you I was – partially paralyzed. I should have told you I couldn't feel my feet. I'm sorry – really, really sorry."

"Beth – I don't care about that any more, ok. I just – I don't want to pick this up in a year, because that means – that means I'd have to lose you now." _Just tell me you don't hate me…_ "None of the rest of it – it's just not worth anything if – if you go away on me like this." _I love you; you told me it would break your heart if I ran out on you… _"So just – just don't go. I'll make the time – "

"Sheldon – _please_ – I can't expect you to make that kind of a commitment. It's – it's going to be a long hard year and – I can't have someone who's going to bail half way through, even if it's just because their life just gets too crazy."

"I won't bail on you. I know you've got no reason to believe that, but I meant it when I said you had me, today, tomorrow, the next day – every day after that. If there's any hope of some kind of 'second chance' to prove that to you – just tell me what I have to do to get it, because I will do _anything_ you ask me to, if I just get to keep the girl."

"I'm – not the same person I was two days ago," she tells me quietly. "I – I may never be that person again, because – bravado aside, I am scared, Sheldon. I'm scared you'll – you'll end up resenting the attention I'm going to need – scared you'll end up resenting the time – and the effort – and – and I will walk, but it's not going to be the same."

"You'll still be my angel – you're still the woman who held me in the dark. The woman who – who made off with my heart."

I hear – just the tiniests of gasps there, and it's followed by a whisper even I can barely hear. "Do you really mean that?"

"I'm not good with words, Sweetheart – I'm even worse when it comes to – feelings. Emotions, whether it's mine or anybody else's. Every shrink I've ever seen – and there have been quite a few – they all called me emotionally under-developed, which is pretty much just psycho-babble for really fucked up in the head. And ah – that was _before_ the good Dr. Guevara got done with me – these days I'm not sure what a shrink would have to say about the shit that goes down in my head. But for all it's worth – all it really means, I do love you. I'm not gonna bail on you – even if – if I said I'd come back and we both know I wasn't going to – I _won't_ bail on you." Yeah, I'm shaking. I've never said anything like this out loud before. I never asked Holly not to go. I never told her I loved her. I may never know if it would have changed anything if I had, but – but I can't just let Beth slip away without at least trying… and it would really fucking help if she'd say something here… anything, even if it's just to tell me to go to Hell.

Finally, just when I don't think I can take this silence much longer, I feel her hand on my cheek (she's shaking too – shaking just as much as I am, I think). Beth doesn't say anything, but she draws me forward until her lips meet mine. She has to coax them open – coax my tongue into her mouth, coax it into playing with hers. She has to coax me into accepting the hope I think she's offering me here… She still hasn't said whether or not she could ever love me (yeah, I just laid on her exactly how fucked up my head really is – ok, so let's be real, because even angels have their limits. But – she's kissing me. She's holding me. And I'll take whatever she's willing or able to give.)

It is a very long while before she finally pulls back from me. I don't want to stop, I don't want to let her go – but I don't want to ever scare her either. I really don't want to scare her now, because I'm not quite sure where I stand, if this limb I'm clinging to is going to hold up or crack and land my ass right on the cold hard ground underneath me.

Beth's voice is a soft, frightened sounding whisper, almost in my ear, "The night before – before the Day of the Dead, I had the strangest dream. I ah – I just chalked it up to – you know, la Dia de los Muertos, All Hallows, all of that – I didn't take it seriously."

I'm not sure which one of us she's trying to convince, because it sounds to me like whatever it was, she took it real seriously – even if I have no idea where this is going. But – I'm kinda getting used to this. My little angel doesn't always make a whole lot of sense – I don't really mind. I just nod and scoot in a little closer to her – because – she hasn't quite told me she's staying – but she hasn't said she's leaving either, and if that kiss was any indication… "So what was that dream?" I ask after I get a few more seconds of silence.

"I ah – I saw Death. You know, the typical guy in black with ah – you know."

"Skull for a face?" I have to force that smile. Only – only then I feel her hand on my face – she turns it just a little and kisses my cheek and – yeah, it's not so hard to smile after all.

"He was – not so tall – kind of thin – and – there was this river of blood behind him – but I wasn't afraid. I mean – Death is just change and change can be good. But then – it got a little weird."

"Weird how?" Ok, she's got my curiosity piqued if nothing else, because – well – yeah. I'm sure you get what I'm thinking.

"Erotic weird," and I do believe the lady is blushing. "I – I don't have dreams like that."

"Ever?" I'm mostly teasing.

"Not really – and not – so vivid."

"Was he good?" I favour her with a bit of a mischievous grin – oh come on, I can't help myself.

She giggles, just a little. "He was very good. And then – then he just held me in his arms a while, and I felt safe. _Really_ safe, for the first time since I ran away from Neal I honestly felt like no one would ever hurt me like that, ever again. And I felt – needed. _Wanted_. And then – then he showed up."

"Neal?"

"No."

"Beth – "

"I didn't fall in love with a dream, Cowboy. I fell in love with a man – a very real, very solid _man_ – a man I happened to dream about the night before he showed up in my garden, trying very hard to bleed to death in my petunias."

………………………………………….

In that book which is  
My memory,  
On the first page  
That is the chapter when  
I first met you  
Appear the words . . .  
_Here begins a new life_

- Dante Alighieri -

……………………………………..

Look at the sky tell me what do you see  
Just close your eyes and describe it to me  
The heavens are sparkling with starlight tonight  
That's what I see through your eyes

I see the heavens each time that you smile  
I hear your heartbeat just go on for miles  
And suddenly I know why life is worthwhile  
That's what I see through your eyes  
That's what I see through your eyes

Here in the night, I see the sun  
Here in the dark, our two hearts are one  
Its out of our hands, we can't stop what we have begun  
And love just took me by surprise, looking through your eyes

I see a night I wish could last forever  
I see a world we're meant to see together  
And it is so much more than I remember  
More than I remember  
More than I have known

Here in the night, I see the sun  
Here in the dark, our two hearts are one  
Its out of our hands, we can't stop what we have begun  
And love just took me by surprise, looking through your eyes  
Looking through your eyes

……...

_Looking Through Your Eyes_  
Lyrics & Music By: Carole Bayer Sager & David Foster

Sung By: The Corrs & Bryan White

* * *

I just want to again say **THANK YOU** to everyone who's read this, whether you've reviewed or not. I appreciate you sticking with me through the roller coaster… ;)

Give me a month before you start looking for that sequel because I sorta skipped out on doing my homework to finish this today (I was just more driven to this than Russian…) But… I've really gotta get back on top of school…. There are at least two sequels to follow, one decidedly short (by comparison) with the working title **_Three Weddings and A Funeral_ **(yes, a direct rip-off of that Hugh Grant flick from a few years ago, just minus one wedding because I couldn't think of a fourth couple.)

* * *

**Movie References**

**Finding Neverland** – there are any number of Peter Pan references scattered through out, including a couple of quotes and of course the book _Peter and Wendy_

**Pirates of the Caribbean** – the fact that Sands favourite part of Peter Pan is the pirates. I also put a few of Jack Sparrow's words into Sands' mouth ("Easy on the goods," "…we have ourselves and accord,"… "all by my/his onsey…") and that little resort Milo is so fond of is built on the site reminiscent of Port Royal. Also, Sands likes rum just as much as Captain Sparrow, although we didn't see him drinking too much of it, he did talk about it.

**Don Juan De Marco** – speaking of that resort, Eros Island is the quasi-mythic island paradise in Don Juan De Marco.

**Blow** – Thirty million dollars in a bank in Panama

**Donnie Brosco** – "Forget about it," in Sands' best (or worst) Brooklyn Mobster Accent

**Cry Baby** – when Sands is lamenting civilization, he thinks about Traci Lords, who co-starred w/ Depp in Cry Baby

**The Astronaut's Wife**: Spencer is the name of the character Depp played in that one. Also, Sands refers to himself as "a real peach" which is something Spencer (in Astronaut's Wife) would say (isn't he/she a real peach).

**What's Eating Gilbert Grape**: Arnie is the name of Gilbert's brother (it's the name of that other half brother Sands has, the one that actually talks to Tonto. And if all goes well, he'll end up in one of the sequels – so I might as well let the cat out of it now, I have in my head Orlando Bloom to "play the part" as it were… although I have a hard time pinning the name Arnie on Orlando, he's just too damned sexy to be an Arnie… oh well… I just like the picture of Depp and Bloom together on the page.)

**Chocolat:** Hot chocolate is Sands' favourite – it's also Roux's. Imagine that. ;)

**The Libertine:** I used a line of John Wilmot's (the Earl/Duke of Rochester) poetry at the start of Chapter 10. (I can also really see Sands digging the Wilmot's poetry – some of it is truly, truly raunchy. And just maybe the Libertine will see a U.S. release in March, they've only pushed it back, what four times already?)

**Sleepy Hollow**: it's no accident that the false ID Sands uses to get back into the States is "Mr. Crane." And there's more than a passing similarity between the way Ickabod Crane describes his mother and Beth – although I didn't really have that in mind when creating her, I just noticed it later.

It's also no accident that Sands refers to his "male bits" as his "Johnny" (as in short for Johnson, but you know I couldn't resist using that _particular_ bit of slang for the bits in question.)

**Benny and Joon**: really obvious one, when Emma is chatting with "Jay", Joon is one of the "J" names Sands conjures up to convince himself that Em's Jay is really a girl.

**Once Upon a Time in Mexico, the deleted scenes:** Sands references to Alaska and taking Beth to a rodeo

**Once Upon a Time in Mexico, DVD extras, 10 Minute Cooking School**: Robert Rodriguez comments that cooking is like fucking, something you're going to do all your life so you might as well get good at it (or something to that effect, I'm paraphrasing from memory.) At any rate, that's something Sands said to Beth while they're in her garden. Not only was it something I could just see Sands saying, but it seemed really appropriate to steal a quote from the guy who actually created our favourite CIA operative.

Iggy and Bela are Emma's cats, named after Iggy Pop and Bela Legousi. Depp has starred opposite Pop a couple of times and opened for him at one point back before he became an actor and was trying to have a career as a musician. Bela Legousi of course was a very good friend of writer / director **Ed Wood** (another Johnny Depp movie.)

Erasmus – that raven of Emma's. Erasmus is the name of the raven in the movie based on E A. Poe's famous poem, _The Raven_. In the movie Vincent Price plays a man who gets himself turned into a raven – and of course we all know that Vincent Price co-starred in **Edward Scisorhands**. (Yeah, I really went digging for that one, although I too am a fan of the old horror movies, so it wasn't that much of a dig… )

Even more indirect – when Sands is talking about his favourite alcoholic beverages, he mentions something he can't get in the States but really likes – he's speaking of absinth (which is utterly yummy, it's really sad we can't get it in the states). Absinth is the drink of choice of Inspector Fred Abberline in **From Hell**. I'd hoped to elaborate more on Sands and absinth in this one (because the reference was more in my head than on the page) but will get to it in one of those sequels.

Unintentional names: I ended up using the name Tom for Alison's police officer husband just as a 'working name' but never renamed him. So I didn't really mean to refer back to Tom Hanson from 21 Jumpstreet, it just kinda happened. (And there's another possible sequel idea floating around my head, because would you believe that there's another Tom Hanson in the world of video… I love cross overs and that would just be too much fun, especially given that Christian Slater plays the other Tom Hanson and he is also rather yummy… I just have to sit down and actually watch the movie to see if I can make it work. By all accounts the flick wasn't that good… )

Likewise unintentional, apparently Depp's first wife's maiden name is Alison – I didn't know that when I started writing this (contrary to what my husband believes, I'm **not** a "drooling fan girl," ;)

Unintentional line: somewhere in here I wrote the line "could / would end up a dead man." As soon as I wrote it, I caught it myself – Depp starred in a movie called **Dead Man**. (Iggy Pop was also in that, along w/ a couple of other really great actors.)

Some other movie references: Emma invites Cicily to play a computer game based on a movie about the adventures of juvenile spies – i.e. **Spy Kids**, directed by Robert Rodriguez and starring Antonio Banderes. Sands refers to artist Frida Kahlo – Selma Hyak played that role in the movie **Frida**. Milo Perry Gives is "played by" Robert Sean Leonard, who played Neil Perry in **Dead Poet's Society**. I'd already used the name Neal for Beth's ex., so I gave Milo 'Perry' as a middle name. (And ok, ok, I have too much time on my hands here… DPS was the first time I saw Leonard on screen and I just fell for the guy. In a non-drooling fan girl sort of way … heheheh.)

And… that U.S. Marshal, Marshal Samuel Gerard – that's Tommy Lee Jones in the role he played in both **The Fugitive** and **U.S. Marshals**, because I love cross overs and couldn't quite resist.

Cheers, and thanks for reading!  
Helen


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